


Now You See Me...

by windingwarpath



Series: Death's Favored Daughter [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Action/Adventure, Heist, Humor, Thieves Guild, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwarpath/pseuds/windingwarpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of connected heist stories starring Imoen, as she does the thieves guild quests from Baldur's Gate. A side-story to my longer fic, Death's Favored Daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rat Catching Cat Burglars

**Author's Note:**

> This is something of a companion story to my long, ongoing fic Death's Favored Daughter, but it shouldn't spoil anything significant from there and hopefully stands up fine on its own. It's basically a series of somewhat connected heist-stories about Imoen, the arcane trickster, having some adventures away from the main party.
> 
> Or I guess this story is basically 'The Lies of Locke Lamora' starring Imoen, Alora and Skie as the...Lady Bastardettes?

Thieves' Cant.

Really it's just a fancy way of saying 'slang.' Special words and phrases that are used in the criminal underworld to pass on information to those in the know and leave the lawmen scratching their heads. Imoen had her doubts as to how secret and ahead of the authorities the language really was though. After all she had picked up enough of the barmy bark from a musty tome back in Candlekeep called ' _Can't You Speak the Cant_?' to follow. Or at least she thought she understood when she first met an in-the-flesh thief who started laying the cant on thick.

That thief was a skuzzy-looking fellow with a thick Iraeboran accent who approached her companions in the back of the Baldur's Gate Thieves' Guild. What were they doing in the ramshackle guildhall? Well, that's a long and boring story. Suffice it to say they were invited, and after a long chat with the head of the guild (a wiry old fellow with sharp eyes that looked ready to pierce you at any moment,) while they were making their way out of the building this jolly guy with a worn, dirty face sauntered up to them.

With a wry grin the man started ribbing the newcomers, saying he'd expected new sneakmen and not some stub-foot rank-riders likely to bungle the first score they come across. Ashura had just silently glared at the man (silently glaring was her default reaction to anyone,) and Viconia had asked "Can this imbecile not even speak the common tongue of surfacers?"

Imoen couldn't resist though. She ended up bragging that she had as much skill at the 'cross-trade' and the 'windey-turn' as he; give her a chance and she'd prove it. They had exchanged a few verbal jibs and jabs, one thing led to another and soon she had agreed to prove her knack at the cross-trade that eve at a 'cozy manse aside the Splurging Sturgeon where we'll snatch some honey and swag.'

Translation: 'Help us rob some house by an inn tonight.'

As they left the thieves' house Imoen realized that making a date to meet a shifty rogue that evening in a dark corner of town may not have been the wisest of choices, and for quite a number of reasons. It didn't help that when they had made their introductions he had told her that his name was Narlen Darkwalk. ( _Now there's a sirname to be proud of!_ ) Still, he had given her the impression that proving herself on a little heist would put her in the good graces of the Thieves' Guild; a plus if they were going to be living in this city for a while and she felt the urge to snatch anything shiny later. She had heard stories about big city guilds not taking kindly to 'freelancers.'

So when the sun vanished well behind the sturdy city walls of the Gate and the twilight shadows deepened a bit Imoen suited up and set out from the Elfsong Tavern, taking the unfamiliar streets with a brisk pace and cautiously darting eyes. She didn't exactly have an appropriate outfit for burglary, but that was probably for the best. Walking down the street dressed all in black with a hooded mask was likely a good way to draw the eyes of the Flaming Fist guards. Instead she wore a simple grey raincloak with a hood that she could pull up over her short auburn hair in a pinch, a tunic of muted violet, dark purple trousers and her trusty boots. At her belt hung a small, neat pouch filled with her tools: lockpicks, probes and assorted alchemical powders. Beside that pouch rested an identical bag full of something nearly as important as the thieves' kit: spell components.

On the other side of Imoen's hip sat her dagger, and over her shoulder she carried her shortbow, a small quiver of arrows resting beneath her cloak. The bow was probably a bit conspicuous, but it had come in handy way too many times in the past few months for her to just leave it behind in her room. Maybe this city would prove different, but it seemed like the wide world outside of Candlekeep was filled to the brim with monsters and crazy people just waiting to jump you.

This was only her second night in Baldur's Gate, but old geographies and guidebooks had given her a passing knowledge of the city's layout. The Splurging Sturgeon was supposedly a block down from the Blushing Mermaid, a seedy tavern Volo had talked of extensively in his guide to the Sword Coast. _And both taverns should be in the…uh…northeast corner of town. Easy enough_.

Of course after a few minutes following the ever-curving cobblestone streets she was hopelessly lost. What direction _was_ northeast even? How could she tell with the sun gone? She ended up asking around for directions, and a helpful laborer eventually pointed her in the right direction and gave her some street names after some predictably lewd comments. From there she made her way beneath the street lamps to the north, trying not to marvel at the towering palace on her left, then swung a hard right at Spire Street into a more shabby section of town.

The Sturgeon was a clean-looking little establishment in the otherwise dingy northeast corner of the city. Walking towards the place she got the accusing-eye from a few beggars after ignoring their calls, as well as wary looks from some local prostitutes minding their streets. _Well, at least I didn't agree to meet Narlen in a dark alley_. There was no one in front of the tavern itself, so Imoen sat down on the front steps and waited a while with her knees knocked together and her eyes scanning the darkness.

A little time passed and she began to lament that they hadn't actually agreed on a time to meet besides 'tonight.'

'A bell after sunset' or 'three bells before middark' or something would have probably made this less awkward. _Wait a sec; did he say 'we link aside the Splurging Sturgeon' or 'astride the Splurging Sturgeon'? Was I supposed to climb onto the roof? Surely not._

It felt like an hour but it had probably been a tenth of that when Narlen stepped out of a nearby shadow and approached her. He just sort of seemed to materialize, and perhaps he had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to seem fashionably late.

The thief would not have been a particularly handsome man with the best of grooming, and his wild, greasy hair, stubbly and dirt-cakes cheeks and lazy eye didn't help matters there. Looking at Imoen his mouth split into a bright smile, displaying surprisingly pearly and straight teeth. "So ya did 'ave the sand to show up. I wasn't sure."

"Pfft!" Imoen scoffed as she stood up and straightened her clothes. "I've got plenty of that sand stuff. Just show me the mark and I'll show you the pocket-stuffings."

"We'll go a lil' easier than that for yer initiation tonight," Narlen said. "And don't you go off on me 'bout a lack of action. A good sneak-girl knows that a night without event is a good night in this trade. Speakin' o' which," he pointed towards the bow hanging off Imoen's shoulder, "ya planning on doing some archery practice?"

"Nope," Imoen replied with a shake of her head, "but archery targets have this habit of sneaking up on me."

The thief shrugged. "I wouldn't advise such a conspicuous weapon but so long's ya keep the arrows in their quiver I spose' it won't do any harm."

"They won't leave the quiver unless it's really really necessary," she promised.

That seemed agreeable to Mr. Darkwalk, who turned, gestured and well...started walking through the dark. They stuck to the shadow of the Sturgeon as he led the way to a broad townhouse just north of the inn. Imoen easily followed through the darkness. Nothing quite as handy as a _ring of infravision_ for a night like this.

As they went Narlen whispered over his shoulder. "We're liberating the home o' a high up noble's mistress tonight. He keeps a big portion of his bank there, and we have it on good authority that she'll be out for the eve. Me and me lad Rededge will be doing the liberating, but we need you ta keep yer peepers on the street and give a holler if ya catch a skeg of the watch. We're tryin' ta time this venture between shifts, but them flaming cloaks are a sharp lot so you never know."

There was already another man –grim faced and blonde with soft black clothes- perched on the stoop of the townhouse. Rededge, Imoen presumed. He silently rose to his feet and pointed at the door as they approached. Narlen gestured towards his eyes, then to Imoen, and finally to the street, before quietly opening the door, propping it wide and slipping inside with his companion.

Imoen did as she was instructed, turning to watch the street. Leaving the door open seemed dangerous, but she guessed they were planning to liberate some stuff that required two men to carry. The propped-up wheelbarrow near the stoop pointed to that as well.

_ Empty street so far, _ she thought after a tense minute passed by. _Hrm. This is a little conspicuous. Maybe I should find a hiding-_

But by then it was too late. Before she could even think of slipping into the shadows an armored man with the sigil of the Flaming Fist emblazoned on his surcoat rounded the corner of the Sturgeon, immediately noticed Imoen and started marching purposefully in her direction, the plates of his heavy armor clinking as he went.

"Rather late to be out practicing archery, young lady," the guardsman noted. "Or what _are_ you doing exactly? Skulking out here in the dark." His eyes shifted to the open door of the townhouse and narrowed dangerously. "Not to mention that Mistress Tivana is away till the end of the tenday. You open her door?" His hand had slipped down to the hilt of his sword and he was closing fast.

"Oh, it's uh…all completely innocent," Imoen tried to be reassuring. "You see," her hands raised into a surrendering gesture, then began to slowly whirl round and round, " _novos ishis thrayss_." She drew the syllables out, emphasizing her languid, circular gestures with each word. The Flaming Fist guard's eyes followed her motions drowsily and his scowl relaxed until his mouth went a little slack. When Imoen's gestures stopped there was a dazed look in the man's eyes, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well you see," Imoen continued with a bit more confidence, "we're a team of rat catchers. Tivana hired us to clear her cellar out while she was away." She tapped the bow at her shoulder. "This is for stopping any of the buggers that slip out the door."

"Rat...catchers?" the guard mumbled. "At night?"

"Well of course," Imoen said with a sour look on her face. "We don't want to go carrying the piles of dead rodents out in broad daylight now do we? It'll upset the neighborhood." She leaned forward and gave the guard a conspiratory whisper. "Some of the things are over two feet long. Scary stuff. Don't want the neighbors talking eh?"

The guard nodded sleepily. "I suppose not. Wouldn't want the Sturgeon's owners to see any of that."

"Nope," Imoen said with a shake of her head. "Now was there anything else you wanted officer?"

He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. Keep up the good work young lady." He swayed a bit as he walked off down the street, muttering something about two-foot rats.

_ Whew. Nothing like a bad lie reinforced by a good charm spell.  _ Imoen had been a little uncomfortable learning enchantments at first, after several bad experiences being charmed herself. Watching Xan talk his way out of some dangerous situations that would have otherwise ended in violence had changed her mind a bit though. The potential for abuse with mind-magic was unpleasant to think about, but on the flipside enchantments and illusions seemed to often be the best ways to avoid killing, and over the past few months Imoen had seen more than enough death.

A few moments later Narlen cautiously peeked out through the doorway. "Saw ya chatting with the Fist," he whispered. "Did you actually manage to..?"

"Send him away? Yup. It's clear if you hurry."

The thief nodded and a moment later he and Rededge maneuvered out through the doorway, lugging a big wooden chest between them. They righted the wheelbarrow, plopped the chest inside with a clink that spoke of coins, and took off fast as they could, sticking to shadows and back-alleys Imoen had not noticed on her journey there. Somehow they managed to avoid the streetlamps all the way to the ramshackle collection of buildings that housed the Thieves' Guild.

As they walked Narlen muttered. "Dangerous thing lass, trying to talk yer way through the law. I'm guessing from yer lack of armor and all yer pouches that you've some spells to fling about, but even then what you did's dancing way too close to the leafless tree fer my tastes."

Imoen gave him a skeptical look. "The leafless tree? I don't think they hang people for what we did tonight."

"True," Narlen admitted while inclining his head and guiding the wheelbarrow from the front, "but ya should think o' any close brush with 'em as a brush with the leafless tree. The law's an inconsistent and dangerous thing to cross. Specially fer a pretty lass such as yerself. Maybe Tymora'll smile on you and you'll get caught by a chivalrous guard who'll let you off with a stern lecture. But it might just be Beshaba's night, and the lawman'll be a nasty piece of work with ideas 'bout what to do with that plump arse of yers by way of punishment. Just sayin' a den o'guards can be just as jacksome as a den o'thieves. Best not to chance it and avoid 'em all I say."

_ Ack _ . Now there was an unpleasant thought that hadn't occurred to her. Without thinking Imoen's hand went to her pouch of spell components, fingertips tapping the spot where an eyelash incased in a bit of gum was stored. Hopefully if she ever met some guards and things really got dicey the invisibility spell she kept ready would give her breathing room to escape.

_ Now you see me, now you don't. _

As they rocked the wagon through a side-door and entered the relative safety of the den of thieves Narlen tapped the chest and grinned. Once more it clinked and rattled. "Enough grim talk though," he said. "Time to split our share of swag and honey."

_ Honey _ . Imoen remembered that one from the thieves' cant guide as well. Honey means money. One of those rhyming things.

* * *

Now that Imoen was good and initiated Narlen had a more challenging job for her the next night. She was going to do the footwork and snatching of a 'right pretty prize' while Rededge watched the street. The prize itself was a rare, multihued gem called a rogue stone that had recently been acquired by a smuggler and fence who worked outside the guild. Narlen had explained that the smuggler thought himself beneath their notice, but they had actually been waiting for him to come into possession of something truly valuable before they hopped in and robbed him blind.

This time Imoen thought to get Mr. Darkwalk to commit to an exact time for the meet up: outside the Blade and Stars Inn an hour into moondark. The rogue even surprised her by being punctual. Their target was a house just down the block from the inn: a wide, impressive building with three stories and a series of tiered, slanted roofs.

"Now, one fly in the ointment," Narlen whispered as they approached the house, "is that the berk often has some sort of pirate-tough guarding the lower floor. You wouldn't happen to have a sandman-spell in that bag o'tricks huh?"

"A sleeping spell?" Imoen whispered back. "Afraid not." She looked up at the house. "There is something though, if'n you want to trust the upper floor to me."

"If ya think ya can…"

"I know it," Imoen said with a grin as she handed the other thief her bow. "Hold this." Looking about and seeing no one else on the street she carefully stalked over to the smooth white wall of the house. She rubbed her fingerless gloves together and whispered an incantation before pressing her palms to the wall. They adhered to the bricks easily enough, and quiet as she could she began to scuttle up and around the lip of the first rooftop. The various stories weren't terribly high up, and the tarred roof was easy enough to walk on. She probably could have climbed it all without the spell, but sticking to the walls made it easier. Not to mention that if she got spotted and had to flee along rooftops her magic-sticky-hands would help a lot.

The windows on the third story were latched, but a thin wire-tool fixed that easily enough. Ever-so-careful not to make the metal clink she lifted and set the latch down before silently pulling the glass back, giving herself just enough space to crawl through. The large room she found herself in next was pitch-black, but the red glow of its single occupant's bodyhead was enough to light the way for Imoen. The man was laying flat on his back in a nest of tangled sheets, softly snoring.

_ Now if I were a rogue stone where would I be?  _ She guessed that the sleeping man was the smuggler, so he'd probably keep his precious gem close. There was very little carpeting in the room but Imoen's soft boots made no sound as she carefully crept towards the bed. There was a nightstand nearby with a wide, prominent drawer.

When she bent down and gave the drawer a careful tug she found that it was locked. _Promising._ There was even some sort of string attached to the nightstand that would be tugged if she opened it. _Even more promising._ A slice of her dagger and the trap-trigger fell away harmlessly. Next she brandished her lockpicks and started probing and turning the mechanism. It wasn't long before she heard a rewarding click.

"Hmm…wha…what?" the man in the nearby bed muttered, half-asleep. "Is…is someone there?"

Imoen froze. The man was stirring now, sheets rustling. She had to do something! "Me…meow," she managed. Her best on-the-spot cat impression, and it wasn't much of one.

It seemed to have the desired effect though. "Oh. Damn cat," the man muttered and rolled over onto his side, facing away.

Letting out as silent a breath as she could Imoen carefully pulled the drawer open. _Mask be praised!_ There it was, rolling a little on a piece of felt in the nightstand. The gem was about the size and shape of a glass eye, but it sparkled with a rainbow of flickering colors that seemed to come from a light within. Supposedly rogue stones were somehow tied to wild magic, and though the gems could do little on their own they made valuable spell components. Reaching in Imoen carefully wrapped her fingers around the stone.

"Wait," the man muttered again, "I don't…I don't have a cat."

Once again Imoen went completely still and rigid, ice water flooding her veins. "I'm a stray," she found herself carefully whispering. "Now go back to sleep. Shhh."

"Oh…a stray," he mumbled. "Makes sense. G'night kitty." With that he rolled onto his stomach.

Snatching the gem up Imoen went to the window with as much haste as she dared and climbed out. Upside-down with her hair and cloak hanging before her she lizard-crawled her way to the ground, righted herself and pulled the gem from her pocket, showing it off briefly to Narlen.

The thief gave a slight nod of approval before he gestured for her to follow and they made their way down damp cobble streets through the sleeping city.

* * *

"So I said: I'm a stray. Now go back to sleep."

"Ye did not," Narlen said with a disbelieving chuckle. "No bleedin' way."

"Absolutely true!" Imoen protested. "I thought I was going to need a spell, but he just told me 'G'night kitty' and went back to sleep."

"No jack-jabbin' way!" Narlen laughed again, the wine in his clay cup sloshing around.

"I've seen stranger things on burglary jobs," Black Lily -the guild fence- said with a shrug. To celebrate the rogue stone heist they had procured a bottle of her 'Special Reserve' and were enjoying it in a backroom of the thieves' house. Lily had insisted on having a cup if they were going to open the bottle, and since she was going to be the one to find a good buyer for the gem it was probably best to stay on her good side.

"Such as?" Rededge asked mater-of-factly as he sipped from his own cup. The wine was delectably flowery.

Black Lily cocked her round, moon-shaped face in thought for a moment before replying. "One time I thought I'd been found out when this woman in a nightgown came shambling towards me. The first thing I think to do is step aside, and she just walks right by without a glance. I figured she was sleepwalking." She pursed her lips. "Well, that or she was a zombie. It was a wizard's house I was skulking through, so you never know."

She took another sip of wine. "Now, this other time," she went on, "I _did_ get found out. I had slipped all quiet into this room only to hear a muffled sound. I look over at the bed and there's this man laying there looking right at me. Of course he can't do much cause he's buck-naked with a gag in his mouth and his wrists and ankles are tied to the bedpost. I figured someone had beaten me to robbing the place, but looking back there were still plenty of gems in the house. So I figure maybe he had just been playing a kinky game with someone I had the fortune of not bumping into."

"Alright," Rededge said, "now I _know_ you're making that one up."

"Why ever would you think that?" Black Lily asked innocently.

"Because I've heard Voleta tell the exact same story."

"She must have stolen that tale from me then," Black Lily replied, completely unfazed and smiling.

_ Gotta' remember to never play liar's dice with her _ , Imoen thought to herself. A den of thieving liars. Well, at least they were friendly. "So am I really a 'member in good standing' like ya said?" Imoen asked the others. "There aren't any extra formalities I need to go through?"

That got a chuckle out of Narlen. "Formalities? You should know us better'n that by now. Just know that ye 'ave our pass to work the city, so long as you don't pilfer it dry, you buy and sell yer goods through Lily and pay the monthly tax if you're in town."

"Aw. No special guild tattoo?"

All three rogues chuckled at that. "Now that would be a singular bad idea," Narlen said. "Can ya imagine? Moment the Fist figures out what the ink means they have the key to tellin' every guild member apart from the petty street thugs. No thanks. Leave the inkin' to pirate gangs and the like I say."

"If you really want a commemorative tattoo," Black Lily added, "there's always plenty of artists with stalls in the Wide this time of year. Many of them even go above and beyond simple tattoos too. There're magic beauticians that can change your appearance, which is pretty useful in our line of work."

"Of course the nobles use their services more than us," Rededge added. "Highborn women love their fancy bespelled hairdos. Change your hair color, raise it up in a manner that defies gravity, all that."

Now there was a thought. Maybe Imoen could get one of those wizards to turn her hair purple. Or maybe pink. "So I spose' the choice of tattoo is up to me."

"How about a portrait of Darkwalk's handsome mug?" Black Lily suggested. "Smiling from the small of your back with a twinkle in his one good eye."

"Aye," Rededge added, "to commemorate a night to remember."

"Well," Imoen mused, "if I'm commemorating tonight, how about a cat?"

"Haha," Narlen barked. "A cat fer our newest cat burglar!" Their cups clinked together and the wine went down as the rogues celebrated their well-earned prize.


	2. The Museum Job

"Are you…are you for hire?"

Imoen blanched when she looked up from her pitcher of ale and into the eyes of a very twitching-looking gnome. He was thin to the point of being gaunt, with a big bald head and a bulbous nose. "Uhm, I'm not that kind of girl."

"Yeah," Ashura muttered after giving the gnome a glance. "You might want to try the Low Lantern or the Blushing Mermaid for that sort of thing."

A dejected look crossed the gnome's face and his eyes fell to his feet. "Oh. Sorry to have bothered you then miss. Niklos told me that the Elfsong was the best place to find hirelings for the job. But I guess not." He turned away from the table.

Before the gnome could walk off Ashura shot to her feet and placed a hand on his shoulder. The little guy flinched at the sudden contact and firm grip. "Wait," she hissed. "You said Niklos? From the guild? What sort of thing were you looking to hire her for?"

"Oh…well ah…I don't know exactly how to put this…"

"You want something stolen?" Ashura suggested.

The gnome cringed and looked around. The Elfsong was notorious for its dim lights and tapestry-covered walls that muffled sound and facilitated clandestine meetings, not to mention that the city watch was paid well to avoid the place. He didn't seem to be aware of any of that. "I uh…I suppose that's one way of putting it," he stammered. "See, there's this marvelous device on display in the Hall of Wonders; from distant Lantan where they craft things like nothing else in the Realms. They all it a ' _farseer_ ,' though I think you silly humans call it a tele…telesomething." This dreamy look came to his eyes. "It's just an amazing device: it lets you see things that are far away as if you were right there. Without magic even! Just mirrors. Think of all the applications. You could spot the mast of a pirate ship long before they see you, or get a close look at shy, rare birds before you frighten them away."

"Or get a good view through a bathhouse window without being spotted?" Ashura suggested, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"Uh…" the gnome made a face. "I guess that's something you could do with it. I never thought…" He shook his head and cleared his throat. "In any case, the priests of Gond have it locked away behind a glass case in the Hall of Wonders. It's going to waste, just sitting there all shiny and new and unused."

"How much?" Ashura asked.

"For the…for retrieving it for me? Five hundred gold coins. A small fortune."

Ashura looked over at Imoen. "What do you think? Would be your ass on the line, and the job seems a bit risky."

"That's putting it mildly," Imoen replied. "Never been to the Hall of Wonders but just from the name it sounds like a place with some hefty security."

The gnome shrugged. "Maybe," he admitted. "I must confess I know little of the…thievery business. But they do let people come in and walk right up to the display case. And it's just this one big, open hall. How bad can it be?"

"Worse than you think," Imoen said skeptically.

"Well, since it's open during the day there's plenty of opportunity for you to 'case the joint,' as you people say." He thought for a moment and added: "I'll throw in a magic item to sweeten the deal. How about an electrical wand? It's yours in exchange for the _farseer_."

After pondering a brief moment Imoen nodded and reached out her hand. "No guarantees but I'll 'case the joint' tomorrow and see what I can do."

"Excellent!" the gnome exclaimed, mouth turning up into a bright smile as he grasped Imoen's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I'm Brevlik by the way. I'll be staying at this inn for another tenday at least."

* * *

'A bit risky.' Now there was an understatement.

The display section of the Hall of Wonders seemed open and breezy enough at first glance, but to the eyes of anyone who knew how to look the place was crackling with protective glyphs _._ Like the gnome had said it was basically one open, cathedral-sized chamber with a display floor in the center and higher walkways on either side, connected by narrow staircases. There were strategically placed glyphs (deactivated during visiting hours,) at the top and bottom of each stairway, along with some on the balconies and down on the main floor. Even the display cases were warded: the one that contained the _farseer_ (a small brass rod about two feet long,) had a potent looking symbol traced on the surface of the glass itself, and the cases that held less valuable trinkets still had little glyphs inside that would give any thief who picked the locks and reached in a nasty zap.

Of course in order to even get zapped you'd have to get into the place. The main entrance was a set of polished black doors covered in whirling gears, and Imoen couldn't even begin to fathom how the mechanism worked. There were thin slits in the walls along the walkways that let in sunlight, but they were too tiny to even slip through with a shrinking spell. High above those walkways where some larger, more promising windows, but Imoen could make out the faint glow of warding glyphs up there, along with protective wards wherever there seemed to be a good spot for climbing.

Lastly, before she could even get to the windows a thief would need to get past two massive stone gargoyles perched on the roof outside. There was a slim chance that they were just statues and not magical constructs, but considering all the other layers of magic Imoen could see in the place she really doubted it.

After the brief, discouraging tour of the museum Imoen headed to the Baldur's Gate Thieves' House and spent the early afternoon trying to subtly fish for advice or at least gossip pertaining to the Hall of Wonders. Black Lily was the most helpful, explaining that the priests of Gond who ran the place carried wardstones that let them easily pass over all the explosive runes and alarms. There was an unpleasant catch though: apparently the priests knew command words that would make a stolen wardstone explode. So if she was to snatch one of the things out of a priest's pocket and he noticed that his stone was gone the priest could turn her into a shower of pink Imoen-bits with a single word. _Lovely._

"This really seems like too much trouble," Ashura groused as they walked the streets of the city once more, heading west towards the temple district and the Hall of Wonders. It was about an hour before dusk now.

"Nah," Imoen countered cheerfully. "It's a worthy challenge! The guild's all scared of touching the Hall of Wonders. Think of the bragging rights if I pull this off."

"That's just the thing though," Ashura replied with a worried look on her face, "this is something old-hand, professional thieves won't go after."

"Ya, but they didn't grow up in a magically warded citadel. Trust me. I can spot that stuff a mile away and know how to get past it."

"If you insist," Imoen's childhood friend muttered. They stood in the shadow of the Hall of Wonders now, thick pillars towering high above. The temple was built in the grand style of classical Chessentan architecture, with a broad, slanted roof, thick fluted columns and lots of gleaming white marble. Gardens and babbling fountains ringed the structure on all sides. "You just be careful okay?" Ashura tapped Imoen on the arm.

"Of course," Imoen replied with a broad, cheeky smile before stepping through the open doors of the Hall once again.

The armored priests who guarded and patrolled the vaulted chamber thought nothing of a visitor returning to look at the exhibits late in the day. Imoen got a brief glance from one of them and that was it. She slowly walked across the deactivated glyphs painted onto the tile floor, carefully placing each footstep to avoid stirring up echoes.

As she approached the rows of exhibits she watched the movements of the guards on her periphery. There always seemed to be at least two in the hall, but they seemed to keep to the balconies above the exhibit floor and spent a lot of time sitting on the marble benches up there, not paying any mind to the visitors.

Imoen had been pondering the daunting task of sneaking into the museum at night when the thought struck her that maybe she didn't have to even bother. On the display floor sat several very large contraptions along with the locked cases, and there didn't seem to be any magical wards on or around them. The priests probably figured that the contraptions were far too large for a thief to make off with. In fact a few were large enough to find a hiding place inside.

In addition to the tall glass case that housed the _farseer_ there were four other large exhibits: a wide steel dome with an almost blindingly bright light incased in glass at the top called an _everlight_ , some sort of mechanical hand pump, a wooden wagon with strange metal struts attached to the wheels and a tall iron furnace on the back, and a large basket attached to an elaborate, vaguely screw-shaped fan that was supposedly a prototype flying device. Glancing around and noting that the only priests in the hall were sitting on a bench together and quietly talking, Imoen approached the wagon.

According to the placard the device was a ' _steam dragon_ ,' a vehicle that could convey itself along with the speed of a horse-drawn carriage, powered only by boiling water. The tall steam engine on the back was cold and unused, and the door meant for tossing the coal that fueled the furnace looked big enough for Imoen to crawl through. One more look around to make sure she wasn't being watched and Imoen slipped under the colorful braided rope, climbed silently onto the back of the wagon and carefully tried the furnace door. It opened easily enough, and going ever-so-slowly she managed to pull it wide without making noise. Before climbing in she brushed a hand against the smooth interior. It came away clean. _Looks like they either never used this thing or cleaned up all the soot before putting up the display. Good!_ Without further hesitation she crawled inside and pulled the door shut.

The furnace was a little cramped and dark, but Imoen managed to find a comfortable enough sitting position to wait out the next couple of hours. And just like that, the Hall of Wonders had been infiltrated without any need to deal with the outer wards or gargoyles.

She felt a little silly after some time had passed, sitting there in the dark. Maybe it would have been simpler if she had just dared the _farseer's_ case then and there while there were no priests looking. Of course she had no idea how long working on the case would take, and there were always priests and gawkers passing through. Hopefully there would just be one night watchman patrolling in an hour or two when the hall closed, and she would get a long enough window in the dark to disarm the wards with some carefully applied alchemical powders, snatch the _farseer_ and find a way out. Using her invisibility spell and stealing a wardstone off a watchman would probably be the best way to go about that part, but she'd worry about it when the time came.

The slit in the furnace door was wide enough for Imoen to look out of and keep an eye on a small portion of the hall. Perhaps two hours later the lamps of the hall began to dim and go out, until there was nothing but ambient light filtering in from the city. _So much for the 'everlight.' Guess they want to conserve oil._ Of course the darkness wouldn't be a problem for her. _Wonder how thieves manage at night without infravision rings._

She didn't have to wait long before she heard footsteps echoing off the tiles and high ceiling. Next the lantern light of a patrolling watchman crossed her line of sight. He was dressed the way the armored priests had been during the daytime: white tabard emblazoned with the Gear of Gond and worn over some gaudy looking bronze-hued chainmail. The guard slowly shifted from side to side, shining the lantern at each exhibit before his feet went tapping towards the stairs and the higher portions of the hall.

Next came a long, bo-ring wait. It seemed to take forever for the guard to repeat his patrol, at least an hour by Imoen's estimate. That was good though. Once he was out of sight she'd have a long window to do her job.

As soon as the echoing footsteps fell away for the second time, Imoen cautiously pushed the furnace door open and slipped out onto the carriage, wincing a bit as she put her weight on stiff legs. With slow and exaggerated care she slipped off the exhibit and silently padded over the tiles to the _farseer's_ case. Her heart leapt for a moment when she saw the bobbing light of the watchman's lamp up on the balcony, but after a time it disappeared and stayed gone. Hopefully he was resting on one of the benches up there, waiting for the next bell to begin another patrol.

That meant the clock was a' ticking. So Imoen went to work on the secure glass case. The trick with warding glyphs is to find the spot where the drawing started and drop a pinch of specially formulated powder right on that place and nowhere else. If it works there'll be a brief hissing sound and then the glyph will fizzle and burn out from that spot. Most of the time if you miss nothing will happen, but Imoen had heard that if you messed it up real badly (dropping way too much powder or accidentally brushing a finger too close to the glyph,) you could set it off just like you'd stepped on the trap.

Imoen allowed herself a satisfied smile when the elaborate glyph on the glass door burnt out just like it was supposed to. Next came the lock, which proved to be more of a challenge. After three of her six lockpicks had snapped off she gave up and resorted to whispering an incantation. There was a brief white glow at the keyhole of the mechanism, then it clicked and the door drifted open. _That spell's going to make me lazy._

After a glance inside the case to make sure there were no wards or traps that she had missed, Imoen reached in and carefully lifted the brass rod off the silken pillow it was resting upon. _Perfect. Now I just have to find a way-_

As she turned from the display case Imoen's heart went to her throat. In front of her hung a sturdy hempen rope that had not been there before, along with a girl who was descending from it, upside down and going hand-over-hand. At first glance she got the absurd impression that the climber was a child, but by the next breath she had noticed the pointy ears, adult proportions and big feet of a halfling woman.

The halfling stopped close to the end of the rope and gave Imoen a curious look that soon turned into a pouty-frown when she noticed the _farseer_. Quick, silent and with a casualness that made Imoen jealous the halfling righted herself, tossed back her shoulder-length, violet hair an dropped to the tiles. Hair dyed violet and the little lady wore a purple tunic as well. _Wonder if it's her favorite color too._

"Aww," the halfling whispered, pointing at the brass rod in Imoen's hand, "you beat me to it. No fairs." Imoen cringed when she heard the girl speak, but at least she managed to pitch her voice so low that it didn't echo.

"Well," Imoen whispered back, trying not to project either, "finder's keepers! Right?"

The violet-clad halfling nodded slightly, the pouty look still on her face. "Them's the rules. Just doesn't seem fair. I spent days planning this totally spiffy slip-through-a-window and climb-across-the-ceiling and then descend-just-like-a-spider-right-to-the-display-case entrance, and just before I pull it off you come waltzing out of the _steam dragon_ and snatch up the shiny thing."

"I take it Brevlik hired you?" Imoen whispered, eyes constantly darting about the empty hall.

"Ya."

"Maybe we can work out a deal." It had been a pretty cool entrance. The halfling at least deserved something for it.

The halfling pursed her lips a moment, then grinned. "Well, I've got an idea 'bout how you can make up for snatching my prize. You can keep the silly old contraption and I won't complain if ya help me," she took a few steps towards Imoen, "liberate some of these shinnies over here."

'Over here' was a row of display cases beneath a balcony. Inside the cases were various gems and pieces of jewelry, though the elaborate mechanical locks that sealed the cases were the real showcase. Supposedly in the temple beyond the great hall the priests of Gond sold copies of the mechanisms. It certainly wouldn't be good for advertising if the impregnable locks got picked, though Imoen had her doubts as to whether it could even be done. They certainly looked beyond her abilities.

"Um…" Imoen mumbled. "I don't know if I can…."

"Not with that negative attitude," the halfling chided softly as she pulled a lockpick and a second, thinner tool from her pocket. As she started probing a particularly large lock she nodded her head towards a display case next to hers. "That one looks like the simplest. At least give it a try." After a pause she added. "Oh where are my manners. I'm Alora by the way."

"I'm Imoen," the other girl replied, smiling. "Pleased to meet you." She bent down and examined the lock. Unlike the _farseer's_ case there were no external wards, but she noticed glyphs on the inside. Once the lock was picked things would start to get really tricky. But Alora had been right: this one was fairly straightforward. She just had to depress this metal bit here, and then swing it around 'till it almost clicked, then one more probe to lift the top of the mechanism annnnnd…

The satisfying click brought a smile to Imoen's face. "See," Alora whispered, "knew you could do it." She was having a bit of trouble with her more complicated device. "Blast and bother," the halfling muttered under her breath after a time. "This lock sure is giving me trouble." Almost immediately something clicked. "Oh, here we go!" she giggled softly as the mechanism finally opened up, one puzzle-piece at a time. Eagerly she pried the case open and reached inside.

"Wait!" Imoen hissed, snatching Alora's wrist. "That's warded. It might zap yer fingers off."

The halfling gulped and pulled her hand back. "Oh yeah. Fergot. It was just so shiny…"

"It's okay," Imoen whispered. "Do you have any alchemical…" Her voice drifted off and they both hushed as footsteps began to echo through the hall. Silently the two thieves both crouched and did their best to hide, Imoen putting the _farseer's_ tall display case between herself and the footsteps.

_ Ack _ , Imoen thought as she glanced at the approaching guard, then pressed her back against case. _Guess the patrols are more irregular than I thought._

By the grace of Mask the guard didn't seem to notice either thief. Unfortunately he _did_ notice the rope that was hanging down in the center of the hall, and the regular bob of the light from his lantern turned to frantic swinging as began to search through the display cases, accompanied by the screeching sound of his sword being drawn. Imoen had to slip around the case she was pressed up against to avoid the light and the watchman's eyes, but she managed to do just that, and after a few tense moments the light swung away and began to bob again as footsteps retreated down the hall.

_ He's going back?  _ Imoen leaned out from her hiding place to get a better look. _Ack, probably running off to get reinforcements._ At some point while Imoen had struggled to hide Alora had slipped in beside her and was leaning against the display case too. She had something in her hand, which she seemed to want to show off. Imoen glanced over and saw that it was a flat, round stone. A white glyph was painted onto its polished black surface. _Uh…_

"Alarm!" the retreating guard shouted. "Alarm! There's someone in the-" He was interrupted by an earsplitting _crack_ and _pop_ when the floor beneath his feet lit up with sparks. The electric shock sent him flying backwards like a ragdoll. When he landed the clatter of chainmain echoed off every tile. For a brief moment the electric blue light of the warding glyph that had struck him glowed on the tiles before fading.

Alora's hand shot to her mouth. "Woops," she whispered, then rushed over to the fallen watchmen and knelt beside him. After a moment's inspection she let out a sigh of relief. "Whew! He's still breathing. Didn't mean for that to happen." The wardstone was still in her hand, dancing between her fingers.

"We'd better-" Imoen begun.

"Yep yep!" Alora agreed, hopping to her feet and marching towards the unlocked displays nearby. "Better get our goodies and then get the H-E-double-dragontails out of here." Getting out was a higher priority for Imoen but she supposed goodies were always nice.

With the wardstone in hand the halfling fearlessly fished a gaudy emerald-encrusted necklace, a round opal nearly as big as Imoen's fist, and a gleaming start sapphire out of the displays. As soon as she had the gems she tossed the wardsone at Imoen. "Think fast!"

"Um, thanks I 'spose," Imoen said as she caught it.

"I can skedaddle the way I came in," Alora pointed out, walking towards the rope. "Been fun playing with-"

Once again they were interrupted, this time by the creak of the door at the far end of the hall followed by fast, angry footsteps. Someone must have heard the guard's shouts! Without another word or a glance at the halfling, Imoen turned and took off, running for the entrance of the hall. Hopefully the wardstone would let her open the giant door and escape.

No such luck. She passed over the protective glyphs easily enough but she couldn't even find a knob or latch on the massive mechanical door, let alone try to pull it open. _How does this bloody thing even work?_

Somewhere behind her Imoen heard a commotion and Alora let out a high-pitched squeak. Nearer there were loud, echoing footsteps to her left as someone in heavy armor rushed down the stairs. Imoen turned and ran full-speed in the opposite direction, leaping up the other flight of stairs and then running along the walkway. She looked around frantically for an exit, her hand in her pouch of spell components. Maybe if she went invisible-

As she neared the end of the walkway an armored man rushed up the flight of stairs across from her and came to a halt when their eyes locked. He glared and Imoen froze. _It's the same guard that got hit by the glyph!_ She recognized his drooping moustache. And _boy_ did he look pissed!

The guard's tight, searing eyes went down to the wardstone in Imoen's hand. A sneer crept onto his face, then his lips parted and he drew a breath.

"Shit!" Imoen yelped, hurling the wardstone like a hot potato. It hit the edge of one of the narrow slits in the wall just as the guard barked out a single word.

The next thing Imoen knew she was laying flat on the hard floor, face scraping against the tiles. Her ears were ringing and dust and chunks of marble were raining down around her. Luckily it looked like the guard had been knocked against a far wall by the concussive blast, and they both shook the dust off and recovered around the same time.

Sore and still a bit in shock, Imoen managed to hop to her feet. _Good. Nothing broken._ The spot where the wardstone had exploded was now a gaping hole in the wall, cracks running through the marble all around. _Welp, that's one way out._ Before the watchman could fully recover Imoen leapt through the smoldering gap in the wall. When her feet hit the brick walkway about twelve feet down with a sharp sting she regretted not using her _feather fall_ spell first. She was still in one piece at least.

Running along the path and through a garden Imoen finally snatched the round piece of acacia gum from her component bag and ran through a simple gesture as she spoke familiar words. " _Umriel vistias quiel._ " A red-and-white shimmer danced before her eyes briefly, a sure sign that the invisibility spell had worked. Despite the spell Imoen found herself slipping behind a nearby flowerbox to duck out of view. _Old habits._

A moment later an armored man rushed past her hiding spot, sword out and oblivious as his eyes scanned the garden. Good. She could just go the opposite direction from him and disappear into the city.

"Oww! You don't have ta squeeze so hard you know!" The shout echoed out of the blast hole, giving Imoen pause. It was Alora's voice.

Imoen frowned and looked back towards the Hall of Wonders. With her infravision she could see the glowing silhouette of one of the guards standing in the breach. A moment later a second figure joined him, holding a wriggling bundle of something firmly in his hands.

"Tell us where your partner went," she heard the guard say, "and maybe we'll just take a few fingers instead of your whole hand."

"Well, she's not really my partner," Alora said in a chipper voice. "You see, we just met tonight in the museum and-" her words were cut off by a sharp, meaty smack that made Imoen cringe.

"Sure ya did," the second guard barked.

"We've seen the whole smartass routine before," the guard holding Alora said. "Let's see how long it lasts in the cells." With that the two watchmen and their little prisoner turned from the hole and disappeared from view.

Before she even started wondering if it was a good idea Imoen found her feet marching her back towards the hole in the side of the Hall of Wonders. _Well, can't afford to be indecisive with the clock ticking on an invisibility spell_ , she resolved to herself, finding handholds in the torn marble easily enough and hoisting herself up. In a moment she was back on the walkway and quietly creeping towards the watchmen up ahead. They hadn't quite made it to the warded landing and the door beyond which led to the inner temple. _Good._

She hurried as much as she dared, carefully placing her feet down fully onto the tiles, one foot after the other. Quick _and_ quiet together is a tricky proposition, but if she made any noise it was masked by the loud stamping of the guards. At first she had hoped that she could just snatch Alora out of their grip, but one of the guards was holding onto both of her shoulders and marching the thief forward in front of him. From Alora's pained expression he was holding on firmly.

And they were nearing a warding glyph. _Ack!_ Imoen considered turning around right there and calling this a lost cause, but a wild idea occurred to her, and she hustled forward instead. The loose white tabard of the watchman who held Alora was flapping right in front of her now, and he didn't notice when Imoen took hold of the fabric and gently lifting it up like a servant carrying a Calishite noble's veils.

Everything she knew about the arcane principles that govern glyphs and wardstones told her that this would work. If you're in physical contact with someone who's warded you can pass through too, otherwise Alora would get zapped in the guard's hands. Still it was terrifying to set foot on the glyph and actually test her theory. Her heart felt like it was about to jump out of her mouth by the time they passed through the double doors and began down a long hallway.

As they went the watchmen talked. "We've heard of you girl," the guard with the droopy moustache growled down at the prisoner. "A halfling burglar with violet hair. A lot of sand you've got, trying the Hall after all the break-ins we've been having."

"Yeah," the other guard added. "I hear you've been caught by the Fist a couple of times, and always talked your way out of it. Don't count on that here. The high priest especially is in no mood for cutesiness."

"Aww, but-" Alora began and then gave another high-pitched yelp when the guard smacked her in the back of the head.

"No talking. If you don't start a sentence with 'My partner went…' then you get hit. Got it? You're not smiling any sweet smiles and talking your way out of this either. Stealing petty trinkets from folks in the city may get you off with a warning or a half-day in the stocks, but the treasures of the Wonderbringer are sacred. We're taking a hand, and that's that."

Imoen couldn't help but count the warding glyphs they kept passing as she piggybacked along, first on the floor and then the arch of the temple-proper as they entered. There were more wards on the steps that they took next, leading down to a cellar door, then an especially potent looking configuration of symbols just inside the lower chamber. The cellar was full of doors, many made of sturdy steel, which Imoen guessed led into secure vaults and other storage areas. Supposedly the priests kept copies of every strange device that passed through the museum down here, locked up tight.

There were a number of bleary-eyed priests bustling about the chamber, and they all glared at Alora as she was pushed past and through one of the more nondescript doors. The big circular room they entered next seemed to be free of those pesky warding glyphs, and looked to be some sort of guard's post. It was also relatively clean and well lit, lined with desks, armor and weapon racks, pegs that held several rings of keys and a single heavy oaken door with a barred window in the back.

They stopped there for a time and the watchmen performed an uncomfortably close search of Alora's clothes and belongings. While they did that Imoen let go of the tabard and backed into the darkest corner she could find, crouching down and trying to figure out what to do next.

The man who had been escorting (and beating,) the halfling scowled a bit when all the thorough search seemed to produce were some thieves' tools and a light coinpurse. "You really didn't steal anything before we caught you?" he asked.

Alora shook her head meekly and looked down at her big bare feet.

"Hmph. Well, if we find anything missing," the guard growled, "it's coming out of your hide." There was silence for a moment, and then he turned to the guard with the droopy moustache and pointed. "Speaking of which, Ceredus is going to take a piece out of your hide too for blowing up your own damn wardstone. What were you thinking?"

"Uh…" Droopy Moustache stammered. "It was in the thief's hands, and stolen wardstones…"

The other guard shook his head. "As a rule we don't blow things up in the bloody Hall of Wonders. It's a miracle we just lost a bit of the wall." He reached into a nearby desk and pulled a small, round stone out of it, opening a leatherbound book that sat on the desk with his other hand. "Well, Ceredus will probably give you a better tongue-lashing than I could." He handed the stone over to his comrade. "If it weren't for the rules I wouldn't even tell you the activation word, but it's ' _ashiare_.' Do me a favor and don't ever use it. Lucky we folks who've been anointed are protected from setting the stones off or you would have just been blown into kibble. And you'd have deserved it."

Droopy Moustache just examined his boots until he was dismissed, sent to meet with that Ceredus fellow and tell him what had happened. The other guard yanked Alora by the shoulder and dragged her to the heavy door, flinging it open.

Imoen made to follow them, but paused a moment as she passed the logbook. On a whim she bent down and ripped the open page out of the book as quietly as she could before hurrying to the closing door and slipping into the hall beyond. The page vanished from sight the moment Imoen slipped it through her belt, but a momentary glance had confirmed that it was a log keeping track of the glyphs on each wardstone, the command words for each one and which priest or guard carried them. As the watchman had demonstrated Imoen wouldn't be able to blow anyone up with the command words, but she figured it might be useful anyway.

When she stepped into the narrow hall beyond the door Imoen's nostrils were instantly struck by the stench of sewage. Unlike the guard's post this place was dark and lined with worn, slimy stones. There seemed to be several tiny cells with doors made of rusty iron bars lining the hall, and each one contained a small patch of straw on one side, a tiny metal grate on the other and nothing else. Judging from the smell the grates led directly into the city sewer.

With a shove Alora was sent stumbling into one of the cells, and as she turned around the guard swung the door shut and locked it. "If it were up to me your hand would be off already, thief," the watchman taunted. "We just need to wait for the boss's approval. But don't get your hopes up. He's even stricter with thieves than I am. The one we caught last night got twenty lashes after the chop, and the boss said that if the break-ins keep up we'd need to make a _real_ example of the next burglar." With that he turned from the cell and started down the hall again.

Imoen had seen the key he'd used to lock the door along with where he placed the ring on his belt. _Just got to snatch that when he walks past. And hopefully he keeps the wardstone in that pocket nearby. If I can slip both those off 'em then-_

A faint rainbow shimmer right before her eyes interrupted her thoughts. Both Imoen's mouth and the mouth of the watchman fell wide open then as her _invisibility_ spell flickered away. _Perfect timing!_ His hand shot to the hilt of his sword and her fingertips stiffened, readying a last-ditch spell that she hoped would incapacitate the man.

Neither of them followed through. Before they could act a gleaming object whistled through the dark and struck the watchman in the side of the head with a _crack_ , spinning him slightly before he went limp and fell face-first to the stone floor. Behind him Alora grinned proudly from her cell, a leather sling held over her head.

"Hope that broke yer skull, you big meany-head," Alora chirped at the guard before noticing Imoen. "Oh, hey Imoen," she greeted the other thief nonchalantly as she pressed her shoulder between the bars and tried to reach for the guard's belt with a stubby arm. "Hm, glad you came by. I seem to have dropped the keys just a _teensy_ bit out of reach."

"Happy to help," Imoen chirped back, snatching the key ring from the guard along with his wardstone. Blood was pooling on the slick stones around the man's head but Imoen was a bit relieved to see that he was still drawing shallow breaths. As cruel as he had been she didn't like the idea of anyone dying because of her and Alora's sticky fingers. They had broken into his home, after all.

Rushing to the prison door Imoen slipped the key in and opened it. "I came here to rescue you, ya know," Imoen said. "Didn't realize you had it all in hand. Uhm...how in the Nine Hells did you manage to sneak that sling in with you?"

Alora walked over to the unconscious guard and picked up the bullet she had hurled at him. She wiped a little blood off the opal before slipping it into a pocket. "My personal proprietary double-secret trick, of course. I'll tell ya if you can keep a secret!"

Imoen giggled. "Deal."

"Slipped the gems and the sling into his pockets when we were struggling, then I nicked 'em back after he searched me. I call it 'reverse pickpocketing.'" She smiled proudly.

"Reverse…uh…how does that even…" Imoen shook her head. "Well, do you have a double-secret trick for getting out of here? There might be guards in the next room by now, and definitely in the other chambers."

"Hm," Alora hummed thoughtfully, looking at the unconscious guard. "Well, there is the old 'strip the guard naked and dress up as him' trick. Maybe you can dress up, I can ride on your back and we can pretend to be a hunchbacked guard?"

"Don't think that's going to work." Imoen looked up at the doorway. No chance they could get through all those rooms she had passed on the way here without someone seeing them, and the boss-priest the guards had kept talking about might sweep in at any moment, eager to deliver a sentence. Then a thought struck her. "I've got an even crazier idea."

"Crazier than the hunchback guard? This'll be fun!"

"It'll be something," Imoen said as she walked into Alora's cell. "Well, I hope," she added. The trickle of flowing water echoed up from somewhere far below the grate. Bending down and trying not to think too hard about what had touched the rusty metal, Imoen carefully placed the wardstone on top of two bars. While she did that Alora went to work tying the guard's wrists behind his back just in case he woke up, using his sword-belt to do it.

Stepping out of the cell Imoen pressed her back against a wall. "Keep away from the doorway," she told Alora as she pulled the sheet from the logbook out and scanned it. _Yup._ There was the symbol. She wondered if the stone would accept her command of if only the priests could use them. One way to find out. " _Latrivas_ ," she intoned.

Her answer came in the form of a deafening _boom_ followed by the sound of shredded steel and loose stone splashing into the sewer water below. Just like the hole in the wall this one was more than big enough to escape through. Alora went first, swinging nimbly from the lip of the hole so that she dropped onto the narrow walkway of the sewer tunnel and not into the water. Instead of attempting that Imoen decided that this was the perfect time to use her _featherfall_ spell.

Once Imoen had gently floated down to the walkway the two thieves made their way through the twisting tunnels of the sewers. Hopefully once they had made five or six twists and turns there'd be no hope of pursuit.

* * *

"Are you…are you for hire?" As usual Brevlek's question got a perplexed look, this time from a young woman who sat at a table in the Elfsong with an easy poise that made her stand out from the other patrons. She was dressed in well-made leathers that looked a long way from being broken in, and her dark brown hair was tied back into a tight knot. She seemed to be some sort of debutante, probably slumming.

"Can I help you?" the young lady asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't think he can," her companion noted sarcastically. He was a rougher looking fellow; a northerner dressed in a simple brown vest and trousers, with a night-black goatee and long dark hair tied back behind his head. His eyes were bloodshot and had the squint of someone well into his cups.

"Uh, well of course you can," Brevlek stammered, "you…uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I saw you across the room and you have this amazing poise and grace, like a dancer, and I figured…"

The northerner glared at the gnome menacingly. "If you're proposing what I think…"

"What? Oh!" This was the part of Brevlek's routine where he feigned naïve realization. "No no no! What I'm looking for is…well this is awkward." He leaned in real close to the table and whispered: "What I'm looking for is a _thief._ "

"Funny," came a voice from behind the gnome. "Thought you found two already. And they're right here."

With an exaggerated start Brevlek turned towards Imoen and Alora. "Oh ah wow. You both made it…well…I mean…"

"Weren't expecting that?" Imoen asked with a glare.

The gnome huffed indignantly and stood up straighter. "I was hoping _someone_ would succeed, yes. But you saw the kind of security they have in that place." All the stammering awkwardness had left his voice and he regarded the pair of thieves with shrewd eyes.

"How many people did you send before us?" Imoen asked.

"The halfling would be number four, and you would be number five." The gnome shrugged. "But what does it matter? We had a deal and you went through with it. A glance around the Hall of Wonders should have made the risks clear enough to you."

"It might have helped if you had told us that there had been break-ins earlier and the priests were on full alert! And extra pissed about thieves."

"Then you wouldn't have done the job."

"Pfft," Imoen fluttered her lips. "Just would have asked for more."

A wicked smile crossed the gnome's face. "Well that's just as bad isn't it?"

Imoen rolled her eyes and slid the collapsed brass rod out of a pocket. "Silly that all this fuss was over this little thing. It's a fun toy though." She played a bit with the device, expanding and collapsing it.

"Yeah," Alora squeaked. "We took turns playing with it. I could see the guard on the top of the Ducal Palace so good I could count the warts on his face."

The gnome scowled. "Careful with that!"

"It was so much fun," Imoen added, "that we were thinking 'bout keeping it." She tossed the rod to Alora, who started juggling the device from hand to hand.

The gnome rushed her but she turned away, acting like they were playing some sort of ball game and giggling all the while. When he got real pushy she tossed the rod over her shoulder and Imoen easily caught it.

"See, it's a multi-use toy," Imoen laughed. "Great for a game of keep-away. And I was thinking of going bird watching tomorrow."

"We agreed on five hundred!" the gnome growled.

"Well, we're renegotiating," Imoen said as the gnome hopped up and down, trying to snatch the device. Short as he was he had a pretty good vertical leap, and almost managed to reach it before she tossed the rod towards the nearby table. The young debutant in leathers squeaked and barely managed to catch it.

"Ack," she said with an apologetic look on her face. "I didn't know I was playing."

"Sure ya are, Skie," Imoen said. "Toss it here."

"No!" Alora shouted. "Here! Here! I'm open."

"Fine!" The gnome gave an exasperated sigh. "Six hundred."

Imoen shook her head as she caught the _farseer._ "Nuh uh. Nine hundred and not a danter less." She flung the rod towards the ceiling, and when it came spinning down Alora leapt up onto the table to catch it.

The halfling made a big show of stumbling back towards the edge. "Oh noes! I'm gonna drop it!" she sang as she danced.

"Eight hundred is as high as I can go!" the gnome shouted out.

Imoen cocked her head. "Hm. Yeah, that'll do." When Alora tossed the _farseer_ over her shoulder and tumbled off the table Imoen caught it in her left hand, her right reaching out to shake the gnome's. He sighed deeply, and a moment later he had placed a bag of coins, along with a magic wand, on the table, and was counting out the rest of the payment. His sigh of relief was even deeper when they finally made the exchange and examined the _farseer_ briefly before slipping it into his coat and hopping down off the chair.

"Well ladies," he told the thieves, "I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you but it really wasn't."

"Aww," Alora teased. "Don't be a sourpuss. Next time we'll let you be a tosser when we play keep-away. Promise."

Brevlik shook his head and shoved his way through the taproom and towards the door of the Elfsong. This little mission had eaten up far more money, time and trouble than he had ever bargained for. All for a little tool that might help the crew of the _Windsong_ spot fat merchant ships a little quicker than they could with the naked eye. Captain Havarian insisted it was all worth it, and that the device would pay for itself with the booty they'd bring in, but Brevlik had his doubts. Still, it was good to finally have the device and be done with this, especially the naive, awe-struck gnome act that he had grown so tired of. Hopefully the damn thing would prove useful on the high seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ed Greenwood lore makes the Hall of Wonders sound a lot tougher to crack than it is in the game. That's also where the concept of exploding wardstones came from.
> 
> Also a warning. There's a good chance your DM will not permit:
> 
> -Invisible piggybacking to get past magical wards
> 
> -Using exploding wardstones as an improvised hand grenade
> 
> -Invisibility spells with a duration of 'as long as the plot demands'
> 
> -Elder Scrolls style reverse-pick-pocketing
> 
> Use these tricks at your own risk!


	3. Maid Service

When the first Halruuan skyship showed up above Baldur's Gate there had been palpable tension in the air and relentless gossip in the taverns. Things mostly calmed down though when the Grand Duke proclaimed that the visitors on the ship were welcome guests.

Five days later when a _second_ skyship appeared above the city, moored to some dilapidated buildings and bobbing above the rooftops, all the bubbling tension returned and then some. Children were forbidden from playing in the streets near the shadows of the ominous vessels, many citizens outright barricaded themselves in their homes, and the noble families and merchant guilds posted archers on their roofs. The fact that the second ship was smaller than the first (a single-masted vessel that would be called a cog if it were sailing on the ocean,) gave the citizens little comfort. Worst still, the Grand Duke's office was now suspiciously silent.

Imoen took the appearance of the floating ships in stride. She had a bit of a hunch why the second ship was there, especially since it was moored to the series of connected buildings that housed the Baldur's Gate Thieves' Guild. Ravenscar, the guildmaster, had told them in their first meeting (after a lot of droning pleasantries and threatening language disguised as more droning pleasantries,) that he had a big job lined up for a group of outside mercenaries once the 'Halruuan client' arrived. Perhaps she was completely off, but Imoen had a feeling that the client had just shown up, and shown up in style.

Two days after the second ship appeared Imoen's hunch was confirmed when she was summoned to the thieves' house. The summons was delivered by Niklos, one of the guild's best runners, and it arrived at about the most awkward time possible.

The messenger caught up with Imoen on a _brothel_ -ship of all places.

_ In _ the middle of the night.

_ While _ she and Skie had been preparing to sneak into a mage's cabin and steal a book of magical curses when he was ( _ahem_ ,) busy with one of the working girls.

To top it all off (and this was the most embarrassing part for the pair of thieves,) Niklos had managed to sneak up on them both, unnoticed. When he had cleared his throat, a very embarrassed look on his face that was probably compounded by all the moaning coming from the deck below, both Imoen and Skie had about jumped out of their skins.

After complaining that Niklos had scared the bejeebees out of her and then insisting that Skie and she were totally _not_ on the ship for the reasons he might be thinking, Imoen got around to receiving the message. The runner explained that she was being summoned to meet with Ravenscar concerning 'the big job you two discussed earlier.' As soon as he finished telling them that Niklos had departed with a hasty bow and a rosy blush.

"Should we go right now?" Skie had whispered uncertainly.

"Not yet," Imoen had replied with a shake of her head. They had a cursed half-elven baby to cure first. Old master Ravenscar could wait.

One stolen book of curses, one plunge into the bay to escape the angry owner of the book, one cured baby and a lot of heartfelt thanks from the baby's mother later, and Imoen and Skie finally got around to seeking Ravenscar out. All in a night's work, really.

They were still a bit damp and chafing from the brine in their clothes when they neared the guild house. "I'm gonna catch a cold," Skie complained. "I just know it."

"Oh shush," Imoen responded in a good-humored tone. "You'll never be a great thief if you're always sniffling about sniffling. A master-thief is always silent. Yessir."

"Uh, but Imoen," Skie said with a frown, serious as always, "you're never silent."

"Hm. Point." One of these days they were going to teach Skie not to take everything so literally. "I want one of those ships someday," she told Skie, changing the subject and pointing up at the Halruuan vessle that was floating sixty feet above their heads. "Shame about the turtles though. I read somewhere that they just _have_ to make the hulls out of giant turtle shells. No idea why though." They slipped through a side door a moment later, stepping into the dim light and pervasive smoke of the guild.

In addition to the smoke the atmosphere inside was tense. Every rogue they passed either wore a stony expression or was engaged in nervous, tongue-clucking gossip, and most hands seemed to be resting inside coats or pockets, doubtlessly fingering hidden weapons.

In the grand hall at the center of the Thieves' House the rest of Imoen's companions and their _de facto_ 'leader' Ashura waited, leaning against a wall near the door to Ravenscar's office. When they entered they were given a gruff nod from an imposingly tall man with deeply tanned skin. Bright red robes draped the stranger's lanky frame, puffed up and flaring out at the arms and legs and lined with zigzagging seams of gold. Imoen had no idea what a Halruuan actually looked like, but it was easy enough to put two and two together.

Beside the strangely dressed man Ravenscar sat in his overstuffed chair, one foot propped against his knee. It was the same position he had held court in the last time Imoen saw him. The master of the Baldur's Gate thieves was a spry looking man of middle years, with face-framing black hair that was graying a bit at the temples. His face was sharp and foxlike, with lips that always seemed to be turned up in a sly, dangerous grin. He did all the talking while the stranger stood and glowered.

"No doubt you long ago noticed the skyship hovering over the center of the city?" Ravenscar asked rhetorically. "It belongs to a Halruuan mage named Shandalar, who's been a fixture in these parts for some time. Usually his ship stays moored out in the wilderness and he keeps out of people's affairs, but he recently struck a very lucrative deal with the dukes of Baldur's Gate. In exchange for a large pile of gold he's going to sell the components to build a Halruaan skyship to Duke Liia.

"I'm sure you can imagine how displeased the Halruaans would be if the skies suddenly fill with copies of their prized vessels. So they sent an envoy," he pointed at the man in the red robes, "Resar here, to secure the components for the skyship before that happens. And we need you to (ahem,) secure those components for him. There are three pieces: a statuette, a floating gem, and a book of arcane rituals, and we've learned that they're being guarded by Shandalar's three daughters. The girls are staying as guests in the manse of one of the city's wealthiest nobles, Pasius Oberan.

I'm afraid you have little time to retrieve the objects. They will be making the trade with Liia in four days. Before then it's crucial that our client here gets those skyship components back, and I _hope_ you can manage it without injuring anyone important. Still, the components are the top priority."

"Why are you going outside the guild for this?" Ashura asked, cutting right to it.

Ravenscar gave her a polite smile. "We have quite a few…arrangements with both Master Oberan and Mistress Liia. It would benefit the guild if no known members of our organization were implicated. To put it bluntly: if this job turns into a big bloody mess and agents of the dukes come to us we want to be able to blame outsiders."

Imoen pondered pointing out that she was a bit of an honorary member of the guild already, but thought better of it.

"Of course." Ashura rolled her eyes.

"The benefit to you," Ravenscar added, "is greater than you think. There are a lot of riches lying around in this city, and normally we do what we can to impede 'adventurers' from sweeping any of it up. A free pass from the guild can be lucrative indeed."

"But you won't be paying us in any form beyond that?"

The guildmaster shook his head. "This is a business, and I must make some form of profit. Ask around though and you will find that my favor is worth far more than gold."

"Sounds like a good deal to me," Imoen interjected.

Ashura gave her friend a dubious look before shrugging. "You know this stuff better than me," the warrior admitted.

"Indeed I do." Imoen had started to grin, and as she pondered the matter her smile grew and grew. "So let's handle this one my way, okay?"

* * *

"Are you sure I should be joining you for this?" Skie stammered. "I mean, surely Lord Oberan will recognize…"

"Mayhaps he will iff'n ya keep talkin' wi' dat perfect-like diction," Imoen teased, giving her companion a little pat on the arm. "Really, it'll be fine. You said you were introduced to him once at a midsummer revel?"

The young noble-turned-rogue nodded. "Yes."

"Dressed all in billowing gowns with yer hair done up the size and shape of a beehive?"

Skie shook her head. "The gown was sheer with ruffles about the hips and hem, deep-sea blue and inlaid with crystals. And my hair was done up in braids. It looked more like," she thought a moment, "a sticky bun than a beehive."

Alora giggled. "Ohhh! You'll have to turn my hair into a sticky bun sometime!"

Taking the suggestion seriously, Skie frowned at the halfling. "Well, it's a little short for that sort of braiding…"

"Not exactly my point," Imoen interjected. "See, Lord Oberan got a glance at some wealthy heiress at a party once; the glamorous Lady Skie Silvershield. He won't recognize you in this getup." She gestured. "Nobody notices servants. That's the whole point."

Their 'getup' was the sort of rumpled dresses typically worn by servant women in the region; black so dirt wouldn't show up on the clothing with a touch of muted color at the apron and collar to distinguish servants from mourners, topped with white bonnets. Imoen had picked out dresses that were fairly loose and thick with pockets, there skirts coming down to the ankles and mostly hiding the black moccasins that the three thieves wore beneath. There was more than enough room in the aprons for hidden tools, spell components, and empty pockets to stash things, and though the skirts were cumbersome they covered sturdy woolen hosiery that could be uncovered in a pinch.

Skie still shook her head a bit. "But on the off chance that I do get spotted…"

"See," Imoen interrupted, "this is a prime opportunity for you to perfect your skills, and we can't blow something like that off with 'what if's.' A big part of being a successful sneak-lady is not being _noticed_ , rather than just not being seen, and disguises are the perfect way to do that. Not to mention sometimes it helps to _be_ seen, but seen as the wrong sort of thing. Misdirection. You need some practice with that, what with your debutante manners and all."

Pondering this briefly Skie smiled. "I suppose…" her accent shifted a bit. "I 'spose I 'ave been round enough servant types ta act like one." She bowed her head a bit. "If you'll pardon me speakin' up, mistress."

"Now there's the right of it. Just don't overdo it."

"Yeah," Skie agreed. "I've also seen enough to know that one of a servant's biggest jobs is to stay silent."

"Which will play to our advantage," Imoen said with a devious grin.

Oberan's Estate stood a sprawling five stories above a cobblestone street just south of the Ducal Palace. Like many of the larger houses in the city it was built of sturdy white brick with tiered wooden roofs and several wide balconies on the upper stories.

"Looks like it would be fun to climb," Alora noted.

"Well, let's try the simpler daylight approach first okay?" Imoen replied. "Hopefully they're still short on servants." She approached the door and gave it a few careful knocks.

After a bit of a wait they heard scurrying on the other side of the door, and a moment later it creaked inward, revealing a very plump woman with red hair. Her dress was a faded blue, in a style similar to that of the three thieves-turned-maids, and like them she wore a broad apron brimming with pockets. "Can I help you?" the woman asked over an upturned nose.

Imoen gave her a quick curtsy. "Hopin' that we can help you actually, ma'am," she replied. "Heard you were lookin' for extra help with the dustin' and washin' and such."

The woman gave her a dubious look. "Perhaps," she admitted. "But we're looking for more than guttersnipes who can dress the part. Do you have any experience when it comes to domestic duties?"

"Of course we do ma'am," Imoen replied with a hint of offense. "Why, until recently I worked as a maid at the fortress-library of Candlekeep. My pop is the innkeep there you see, and he had me clean the inn from top to bottom most every day; turning over sheets, moppin' the floors, emptyin' the chamber pots, beating out the rugs…you name it!"

Imoen had hoped a little honesty would help, but the woman didn't seem to appreciate it. "A tavern wench eh? If your story's even true. Would cost me a priceless book to confirm it huh? How convenient." She turned to the others. "And you two? I take it you were also maids down in Candlekeep?"

With a quick shake of her head Skie was the first to respond. "No ma'am," she said, "I tended to the estate of master Berrun Ghastkill of Nashkel 'till recently. You may've heard that the mines there've fallen on hard times. Got so bad the Ghastkill family had to let some of us go. It's been awful since then, trying to survive on the road and these filthy streets…" She sniffled a bit. "But I swear: I can cook and clean and…"

The fat woman waved her hand. "Yes, yes, I'm sure ya can. Unfortunate that you're Amnish though. At least you don't look it, but you might not want to mention that too loudly around here." She shifted her attention away from Skie and glowered down at Alora. "And you, halfling? Where have you worked?"

"Why, at the palace of course!" Alora squeaked, smiling her sweetest smile.

"The palace?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

This confused Alora a bit. "Why… _the_ palace of course. It had merlons and crenels and buttresses and fluted pillars everywhere, and silk carpets that were pink and purple and twelve towers and a chef who made just the best sweet-sprinkle pie you've ever tasted." She sighed. "I really miss that palace."

The woman just gave her a long, blank look, and then to Imoen's surprise she simply shrugged. "Well, dubious as your stories are I suppose we can't be picky." She turned her bulk a bit to the side and beckoned for them to enter the estate. "You three are the only applicants we've had and dirty laundry's piling up." As they stepped into the foyer she went on. "And it's fortuitous that there are three of you, and young women at that. I think I have just the task for your likes."

As she led the three new maids on a quick tour of the lower floors the servant woman, who told them that her name was Glanmarie, explained that she was at her wit's end trying to accommodate their three most recent guests. " _The_ most spoiled-rotten teenagers I've ever had the misfortune of tending to," she complained. "I'm talking worse than Skie Silvershield, if you can believe that."

Alora stifled a giggle.

"Helshara, the one with red hair, is the worst," Glanmarie went on. "Never stops complaining, though they're all pretty clueless. They throw stuff on the floor and seem baffled that we don't have dust elementals floating around to pick their trash up. All three of 'em complained that we _merely_ have bath tubs and no magically powered steam and showering devices. Then Helshara was going on and on about her boredom, so I tried to introduce them to some of the nice lady-like diversions we have around here. When they tried to play croquet they all complained that the balls didn't float. 'What kind of a pissant peasant's game doesn't have levitating balls?' Helshara says. Bah!

"The laundering vats are in this room," she said an aside, pointing. Going back to the subject at hand she added: "Of course all of this is said in complete confidence."

Imoen curtsied. "Of course, ma'am. We know how to keep quiet. Silent as little mice."

Glanmarie frowned. "Just beware that each of the girls is a mage. Wouldn't want to anger them and get us all turned into toads now would we?"

"Nope," Imoen agreed. "We'll be most polite."

"It'll be fun!" Alora announced with a little clap. "I'm sure I can cure Helshara's boredom in no time."

Leading the three maids up a flight of stairs, Glanmarie continued. "In any case I was thinking that each of you should look after one of the three sisters. Clean up after them and keep them out of trouble. Act a bit like ladies in waiting." As they walked through the wide central hall of the second floor they passed several house guards; stern men and women in leather armor with green caps and tabards, hands always conspicuously resting on the hilts of their swords.

"You'll have other duties of course," Glanmarie went on. "I expect you to dust every room on the third floor the first day you're here, and bring the bedsheets down to be laundered, along with any other soiled linens." She went on a bit more about the logistics of their job: how they would be paid and when they could get off for the night ('Slink back to whatever hole you're sleeping in,' was the term Glanmarie used,) and such, as well as pointing out master Oberan's chambers and forbidding the three from going near them. Eventually they were led up another flight of stairs.

"So tend to the three guests and think of this floor where they're staying as yours to clean and maintain. Can you handle that?"

Imoen did her very best to keep her eyebrows from rising up and darn-near floating away. "Indeed we can, ma'am." She tried to keep her voice as humble and possible, and stamp all the glee out of it. Not only were the proverbial foxes being asked to watch the henhouse, they were being given first class accommodations inside. She must have earned Mask's favor somehow.

Glanmarie gave the maids a dismissive wave and turned towards the stairwell. "Well, I need to make sure that fool Verin hasn't burnt the kitchen down, and attend to preparations for the noon feast. Make sure the three sisters stay out of master Oberan's hair and there'll be a bonus for you in a few days when they leave."

And with that the three maids were on their own. They shared a conspiratory grin and Imoen twiddled her fingers. "Welp," she said. "Time to clean up."

* * *

"Oh how boredom stalks these dismal halls," Helshara complained for the third or fourth time, shaking her head and sighing melodramatically.

_ Sheesh _ , Alora thought, scurrying behind the young Halruuan woman. _Glanmarie wasn't kidding. What a dull little drama-poppet!_ Out loud she said: "Well, that's better than a tiger stalking the halls. Had to deal with one of those once, and let me tell you they sure know how to stalk." She curled her fingers to mimic claws. "Rowwl!"

Helshara actually stopped her own stalking at that, turning around with a curious look on her face. "A…tiger?" she asked, truly noticing the halfling maid for the first time.

"Yep! With orange stripes and everything. I was working uh…" _Oh woopsie! Might need to change this story a bit. I'm a maid, not a thief. I'm a maid, not a thief. Gotta remember that._

"I was working in this palace and missed the changing of the shifts because there was this stain in the duke's underpants that just would _not_ come out! Not what you're thinking: it was actually a purple stain. I think it was bilberry juice or something. Anyways, I finally get the stain out and woops, it's suddenly past dark and they've locked half the palace up and let some of the animals out of the menagerie to uh…discourage late night visitors. So I have to slip by the animals, see."

"I see."

"The gorilla was actually a big sweetie. I gave him an apple and he seemed real grateful and even let me pat him on the head. And it was easy to avoid the bear because you can smell those things a mile away. But the big ol' kitty snuck up and took a swipe at me. Real scary! I managed to run and leap the fence of the palace garden before he got a bite. Good thing tigers aren't too good at climbing."

Something vaguely resembling good humor appeared on Helshara's face. "A tiger stalking the halls," she said with a snort. "Now that might be amusing. Perhaps it could guard my artifact fragment for me." It sounded like she was seriously thinking about summoning one.

_ That could be bad _ . "Artifact what's-it?" Alora asked, steering the subject away from tigers.

The Halruuan girl pulled at a pouch that was belted to her ruby-red dress. As the bag opened a luminescent crystal floated into the air with lazy, bobbing motions. It was about the size of a halfling's hand and sliver-shaped. Helshara used the tip of her finger to gently guide the object around while Alora stared up with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"You've never seen a floating stone before?" Helshara asked in a dismissive tone.

"It's shiny!"

"It shines, actually," the Halruuan said with a shrug. "Full of refracted light from the elemental plane of air. It's the sort of thing you see all the time when you work with magic." Another shrug. "And father has me guarding this thing for another few days, struck in these dreary halls." She sighed.

Alora glanced around. "Dreary huh? Well, where would you rather be?"

"Anywhere but here!" Helshara snapped. It didn't seem she had actually thought much about that. "It's just sooo boring."

Alora bit her lip. "I spose I know what you mean." An idea occurred to her. A bit dangerous, but hey, danger could be fun! "But maybe we can spice things up!"

"Hm?"

"How good are you at summoning anyways?"

"Not very," Helshara said with a frown. "But I do know some other tricks."

"Oh! I like tricks!" Alora squeaked with a clap of her hands, and a smile grew on Helshara's face as well.

* * *

"Such lovely hair you have, m'lady," Skie noted with quiet awe. It was a tone she had heard countless servant women use, and a phrase she had heard at least a thousand times. She had long ago realized that that none of the ladies in waiting, maids or cooks had actually been impressed by her hair; it was simply something they felt obligated to say.

Ithmeera seemed to fall for the compliment at least. She let out a little laugh and nodded her head slightly. They were sitting on a long divan, the Halruuan girl's back to her newly acquired maid. "Why thank you," she added. "It's not my natural color, of course, but I've put a lot of work into it." She laughed again. "It's a simple trick to turn it that golden color, but it takes some surprisingly powerful magic to make it nice and wavy."

"Please hold still, m'lady," Skie asked politely as she separated locks of Ithmeera's thick blonde hair before gently twisting one over another in the beginnings of an elaborate braid. As she worked her eyes kept drifting to the statuette that sat on a nearby table; a small piece of granite depicting a naked woman with wings in the place of arms, sitting cross-legged and stretching her feathers towards the sky. It was definitely the statue the Halruuan envoy had been looking for, and it was right within reach; no traps or locks or anything.

Still, Skie had to find a way past the object's single guardian: the friendly blonde girl sitting in front of her. The thought of just snatching the statuette up and bashing Ithmeera in the head with it _had_ crossed her mind, but she was hoping to find a peaceful alternative. Despite Glanmarie's complaints Ithmeera had been nothing but kind and polite, and Skie was actually enjoying the girl's company. She just needed a distraction. Probably a big one; the statuette was far too cumbersome to slip into a pocket.

"Sorry," Ithmeera said, holding as still as she could. After a little silence and a few more twists of her hair she spoke once more. "This is such a treat. I should thank you again. Daddy dotes over us in his own way, but all the servants are magical constructs. I _suppose_ one could be programmed to braid hair but…"

"There might be a lot of yanking?" Skie suggested.

Ithmeera laughed. "Yeah, somehow I can't see a golem being gentle with my hair. Or one of my sisters for that matter. Helshara doesn't have the uhm…patience for something like this, and Delorna would never have the time." She sighed. "She's always been so serious. Studying to be a great archmage I suppose. But don't get me wrong, she cares about us in her own way."

"You sound a little lonely, despite the big family." Skie smiled. "I can relate. My parents and brother were always away when I was little."

"Aw. Where they soldiers or something?"

Skie opened her mouth and then shut it quickly, thinking a moment. Mentioning that she had been raised by servants would invite all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Instead she nodded and said: "Yes they are. Or were, in my brother's case. May Kelemvor judge him true."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear!"

"It's okay," Skie said, keeping her lips stiff.

"I couldn't imagine losing my sisters. Guess I'm very lucky." Ithmeera sighed. "And listen to me whine, when others have things to truly complain about."

"Tis my duty to listen to m'lady whine." Skie patted the girl on the shoulder. "And I don't mind." _Okay, I'm definitely not bashing her over the head with a statue. She's just too sweet._

Ithmeera turned her head to say something else, but she was interrupted by shouts of alarm from the floor below. She leapt to her feet, pulling her incomplete braid from Skie's fingers.

"Oh my," Skie muttered, looking over at the statuette once again.

Climbing from the divan, Ithmeera straightened her powder-blue dress and reached for an ornate whitewood staff with a steel tip. "I hope it's not intruders," she muttered. "Daddy said…" She shook her head. "Well, I'd better check it out." And with one half-braid in her hair, the young mage took off, leaving Skie alone with the statuette.

_ Well that was easy enough _ , she thought as she carefully picked her prize up and searched for a suitable container to carry it in. _Wonder who caused the distraction. Probably Alora. Would be just like her._

* * *

"Absolutely not!"

"But-" Imoen protested, brandishing a feathered dusting-wand.

"Get out," the dark haired Halruuan woman insisted. Like her sisters Delorna had nut-brown skin and eyes as black as jet, but she didn't bother to dye or style her hair, wearing it simple and straight.

"I need to dust-"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Delorna growled. She gestured and a sudden gust of wind buffeted Imoen, propelling her back through the doorway of the study and into the grand hall. "I'll have no distractions until our business in this manse is done. Have I made myself clear?" The door slammed shut and a lock twisted into place.

_ Welp _ , Imoen thought, _looks like we're doing this the hard way._ She tossed the feather-duster aside and leaned forward, giving the lock a closer look. It appeared simple enough, and there were no visible signs of a magical ward. When Imoen had first come knocking and Delorna had opened the door for her terse little reply Imoen had noticed that the door swung open silently; on well-oiled hinges. If she was careful and quiet she could probably tease the lock, push the door just wide enough to slip through, and then enter the room without being heard. And of course there was a trusty spell that would insure that she went unseen.

" _Umbriel vistias quiel._ " As the incantation rolled off her tongue and the air shimmered about her Imoen dipped a hand into a pocket and produced a set of sturdy lockpicks. _Time to get to work. Must admit I kinda like the hard way._

Panicked shouts and commotion rang out from the stairwell, stopping Imoen in her tracks. She glanced around, and then turned back towards the door just in time to leap aside as it swung open. Delorna came running out, her yellow and green robes billowing and a staff of twisted wood with a polished globe at the end clasped tightly in her hands. The door to a nearby bedroom opened as well and Delorna's sister Ithmeera marched into the great hall, equally equipped for battle.

As the sisters exchanged confused glances Imoen wasted no time and silently slipped into the study. _Nothing like a good distraction._ As she crept forward she kept an eye out for magical wards or traps, but there seemed to be none between her and the desk on the other side of the room. And to top it all off the book of magical rituals that she was after sat right on top of that desk, opened to a page about the sort of giant tortoise shells needed for the proper construction of skyships. Maybe Delorna had been studying the book in addition to guarding it. Convenient in any case.

Instinct stopped Imoen's hand before she reached all the way out and simply snatching the tome. She furrowed her brow, her ' _this is just too damn easy_ ' sense tingling. Sure enough a closer look at the desk revealed a faint, shimmering circle around the book, made up of tiny glowing symbols that seemed to slowly flow across the surface of the wood.

A pinch of disruptive powder and the letters quickly fizzled out of existence and went dark. She gave the desk one last careful examination in case there was a more insidiously hidden trap, then took a deep breath and picked up the book. Smiling when nothing happened, she closed the covers and slipped her prize under her arm.

"I can see you, by the way."

Delorna's voice made Imoen involuntarily flinch. "Feel free to turn around, but do it slowly."

_ 'This is just too damn easy' indeed.  _ Silently Imoen pivoted, coming face to face with a very stern Delorna once again. The orb at the end of the mage's staff was glowing, and her free hand was pointing forward, no doubt ready to launch some nasty spell at any moment.

"I knew there was something suspicious about you. The invisibility spell was surprising though, and the way you managed to avoid my ward. Still, looks like I caught you in the act, thief."

"Ya," Imoen admitted, trying very very hard to ignore what was happening just behind Delorna. "Looks like."

"Now, you're going to tell me exactly who-"

The meaty thump of the stone statuette striking the back of Delorna's head interrupted her demand, sending the mage stumbling forward. "Owww!" she shouted, dropping her staff and pressing a palm to the injury as she whirled around, blood already welling up between her fingers. Behind her stood Skie, the stone harpy held up the air and a confused look on her face. Seemed she didn't know what to do next.

"You bitch!" Delorna snarled, pointing a finger at her attacker, where a flame quickly sputtered to life.

By then Imoen had launched herself forward, knees sliding on the hardwood floor in a bid to close the distance between her and Delorna as swiftly as possible. Her thumbs pressed together and the invisibility spell shimmered away as she shouted out a few arcane syllables. The words of the spell caught Delorna's attention and the mage turned around just in time to get an eyeful of scintillating lights.

As the light faded Delorna rocked back a few steps, blinking frantically and swaying like a drunk. The flame at her finger had gone out, though she seemed to be regaining her senses quickly. By then Imoen had begun to silently weave another spell, spirals of color leaping from her fingertips to dance before Delorna's eyes. Violet, pink, ruby red, emerald and evergreen, shimmering turquoise blue; each swirling fragment of light piled up in front of the mage's face, and as soon as her vision had recovered from the first bombardment she was watching the next show, mesmerized.

"In the adventure stories people always go down with one smack from a candelabra," Imoen noted as she continued to twirl her fingers. "In the real world it usually just hurts a lot and makes them really mad."

"I noticed," Skie said with a tight frown, hugging the little statue to her chest.

"It's okay." Imoen grinned. "You still saved ma butt."

The frantic noises that had been coming from the lower floor were only growing, and as the two thieves peaked through the doorway they saw a bit of the chaos firsthand. Two furious house guards were sprinting up the stairs, and a few paces ahead of them Alora ran, her billowing skirt hiked up with both hands. Somehow her little legs seemed to pump five times faster than her pursuers, and in a blink she had dashed through the doorway to the study, which Skie promptly slammed shut, barring the door with a chair a heartbeat before it began to shake under the pounding fists of the guards.

"Looks like you had a fun adventure too," Alora panted, watching Delorna stare off at the pretty colors.

"Yup," Imoen said. "Did you get your thingie?"

Alora nodded proudly and tapped her apron. "Miss Ornery Redhead was having such a grand time terrifying the guards with an illusionary tiger that she never noticed me snatching it. Think one of the guards figured things out though…"

Imoen nodded and walked towards the study's window, carefully uncinching her apron and ignoring the pounding on the door. "We're well past the point in the plan where everything goes to the abyss, so I think it's time for the grand-escape phase." With a flutter she yanked the cumbersome servant's skirt and apron away, and her two accomplices followed suit. Beneath the skirts they wore sturdy woolen tights, and beneath their fluffy, long-sleeved blouses were padded shirts. Sensible outfits for roof-walking and burgling, all in all, though the fact that Imoen and Alora insisted on wearing bright colors (Imoen's tights were a muted purple and her shirt was a brighter violet, and Alora's clothes were slashed with pink,) made them look less the part.

After making sure they had all had their prizes in hand the three thieves opened the window and slipped out one by one, walking along the slanted roof with ease. A quick leap to the neighbor's roof and then they were off, silently navigating the rooftops and then the dark alleyways of Baldur's Gate.

* * *

When they entered the Thieves' House Alora took the lead, Imoen falling behind with her nose in her stolen book. "Bit of a shame to give this up," Imoen mumbled as she dodged past barrels and skulking rogues. "Makes me _really_ want a skyship of my own."

"You could always steal the book back after you turn it over," Alora suggested helpfully.

"Hm," Imoen pondered. "That seems extremely unprofessional. Then again it also seems like what the _most_ professional of thieves would do." With a clap she shut the book and announced her presence to the man outside of Ravenscar's door. In moments the three were hustled into the office, where the master thief sat hunched over a desk.

The gruff Halruuan envoy arrived a few minutes later, dressed in a cherry-red robe that was cut differently from the first one Imoen had seen him in. Instead of flowing ruffles and flutes this outfit was all sharp angles, with padded shoulders and cuffs that came to points you could probably slice bread with. Imoen was starting to think that there was nothing about Halruuans that _wasn't_ flashy and overstated. Inevitable in a society where magic is everywhere, she supposed.

"You have the components?" Resar asked immediately, marching towards Imoen with his hands hidden beneath his sleeves.

"Yup yup," Imoen chimed, offering the book.

"And you procured them discreetly?" Ravenscar asked from his desk.

Imoen bit her lip. "Uh. Well…I don't know if I'd quite say 'discreetly'…"

"No one died," Skie offered.

"But there was some smashed crockery," Alora admitted.

"And one of Shandalar's daughters is going to have a big lump on her head," Imoen added.

"And the house guards got the heebie-jeebies scared out of them by an illusory tiger," Alora put in, with a proud smile.

Ravenscar's eyes narrowed. "That's not exactly what I'd call stealthy."

The Halruuan envoy reached out and took the book. "A shame," he stated evenly, slipping the ritual tome into a pocket that seemed much smaller than the object. "I was hoping these barbarians you hired would make a bit _more_ of a mess actually." His tone sent a chill down Imoen's spine, and she found her hand slipping into one of the pouches where she kept reagents.

As Resar took the statuette from Skie and made it vanish into the tiny pocket he went on. "Slitting the throats of Shandalar's daughters would have tied a few loose ends up for me nicely."

"That's not something we would do," Imoen said with a glare.

Resar shook his head. "Your reputation says otherwise. I had hoped that the band of mercenaries that turned the Sharp Teeth bandits into a pile of ash and flooded the Cloakwood mines would take a more scorched-earth approach to this little job. A miscalculation on my part." Alora's crystal had just gone into the mage's pocket, and now his spindly hands were stretching fully from his sleeves.

Another shiver ran through her, and Imoen glanced over at the desk. Ravenscar was nowhere to be seen. _Yeah, definitely getting colder in here._ She clutched at one of her spell components and took a deep breath.

"Still," Resar continued, "I thank you for the skyship components. And for giving me this opportunity to at least clear up a few loose ends." Resar's fingers pointed out as he prepared to launch into a spell. "Apologies, but you must die."


	4. ...Now You Don't

"Apologies but you must die." With a flick of his thin wrist Resar began to drone through the words of a familiar spell. _"Aserus nais…"_

Two options: try to keep him from finishing or get the heck out of the way, 'cause that was a web spell on the tip of his tongue. Imoen was only armed with her dagger, and in her experience mages slapped on all manner of protections just before they tried to kill you, so she picked option B. Slapping her hands onto Skie and Alora's shoulders she tugged and backed as fast as she could for the doorway, shouting: "The hells outta here!" as she went.

Her partners got the message and she only had to give one tug before they had all whirled round and pushed through the doorway. Sticky strands of webbing followed them out into the great hall of the Thieves' House, ropes of the stuff climbing the ceiling above and stretching across the boards behind them. Somehow Alora ended up dashing far ahead of Imoen, her little legs working four times as hard as a human's, but behind them Skie let out a dainty yelp, followed by a painful-sounding smack against the floorboards.

The girl's shoes had stuck to the edge of the web and she'd fallen forward, chin on the floor and a desperate look on her face. "Help!" Skie pleaded, Imoen and Alora both grabbing a wrist and pulling. The strand of webbing held firm, not enough strength between the three of them to so much as budge it.

While they struggled, Resar strode through the doorway, sauntering slow and confident. His feet hovered just above the webs and he seemed to be walking on the air. Some wizards just love to show off, Imoen had found. A good thing sometimes; nice when they use their allotted number of spells for flashy bullshit, but she doubted that would help now. He probably had at least six different ways to kill them ready and memorized along with the stuff that made him hover and glow and look dazzling.

"Ya puff-coated flim-spell!" a familiar voice shouted, accompanies by a black blur that collided with Resar, making the mage's hands pinwheel and sending him floating off-kilter. "Leave them ladies alone!" There was a flash of steel as Narlen's dagger stabbed at the mage from behind, but the look on Resar's face was all annoyance and no pain.

Narlen scowled as he stumbled back and his feet stuck to the floor, rubbing his wrist with his free hand and looking like he'd accidently stabbed a brick wall. With a whirl and a flourish of his fingers, Resar drew a wand and sent a shimmer through the air that gathered around the thief, seeming to lock all of Narlen's muscles in place.

"No interference please," the Halruaan growled.

By then several desperate yanks and a lot of wriggling on Skie's part had yielded results: the young woman's feet popped out of her boots and she had managed to scramble up from the floor. Before the mage's attention was back on them, the three thieves dove for the nearest route of escape, jumping down a flight of stairs.

When they reached the lower floor they found themselves in a wide stone cellar, the walls lined with orderly stacks of crates near a tidy desk. A dour woman was fussing over the inventory, and gave the three a sharp glare. "What in Mask's shadow are you…" she began, but her voice trailed off as she looked up at the stairway.

Glancing over her shoulder, Imoen saw it too, and let out an involuntary yelp. Something was rushing down the stairs, heavy claws scratching at the wood. Sharp, polished obsidian served as the beast's coat, sticking out like tufts of fur, and its eyes were deep, molten pools. Some sort of demonic wolf, conjured right up from the lower planes, Imoen figured. Big as a pony and mean as a devil. Worse, the creature's master was right behind it, feet hovering above the stairs as he casually strode forward.

There was a wide hallway on the other side of the cellar, and what looked like other halls branching off from there. "Come on!" Imoen shouted and they sprinted for the far side of the room, running blindly through.

"Wait!" the woman called. "You don't want to go there!" And then her voice was muffled as they turned down one branching tunnel, then another and another, taking them at random.

_ Wow, this is some sort of maze.  _ What was that woman talking about? This was the _perfect_ place to go and hide in when a murderous wizard is chasing you.

Another turn, then another. Alora pointed at a wall and squeaked: "Maybe we shouldn't…" the halfling began, and then Imoen nearly fell over backwards as she wobbled to a stop, her boots a finger's width from the edge of a convulsing pool of green slime.

She stepped back and the puddle wobbled and bubbled a bit more, and with a gasp and a hop she barely avoided a strand of dripping ooze that lashed out towards her. The appendage struck the wood of a nearby wall with a hiss and a little trail of smoke.

There was a swoosh behind her, followed by a glowing streak that hit the pool with a splash, scattering more droplets of hissing slime. Imoen was gripping the hilt of her dagger now, but she realized that plunging her hand into that pool of acidic gunk was probably a terrible idea.

Hoping to the side to dodge another lashing tentacle, she dropped her dagger and pressed her thumbs together, aiming the rest of her fingers towards the churning pool. With a word flames fanned out from her fingertips, and the hall was filled with a smell much like burning vomit. Imoen cringed but stood her ground, forcing the flames forward, and between that and a few more enchanted stones hurled by Alora's sling they soon had the thing dispersed into harmless drops of sizzling slime.

"Yick," Imoen muttered, covering her nose.

"Ya," Alora agreed. "Said we shouldn't go this way." She pointed at a mark in green paint on the nearby wall. "It's a thief's sign. Not quite like ones I've seen before, but I'm pretty sure it means 'Beware.'"

"We'll have to look out for those," Imoen said. "And take it a little slower. I'm pretty sure this is the Smuggler's Maze folks in the guild talk about. Leads to a big cavern with an underground river that goes to the sea. And apparently it's full of monsters."

"Hope some of them eat that wizard," Skie muttered.

"If we're lucky, yup," Imoen agreed. "And at least we can lose him in the maze. We'll just have to watch for those marks, and be sneaky. And tricky." She grinned. At least she had the right team with her for that.

* * *

With a chuckle Resar made his way down the hallway, in no hurry. Superimposed over his view of the hall was the image of the three young thieves, making their way down a different tunnel. They seemed almost chipper as they navigated the maze of identical wooden passages that turned or forked sharply every few paces. No doubt they thought they could lose him in the labyrinth, or get lucky and lead him into one of the side passages where man-eating slimes, reanimated skeletons and pressure-plate traps awaited. They had no idea that he was more than a step ahead of them; that the invisible eye he had summoned and sent ahead through the maze had already scouted all the turns and dangers out, and that he could see exactly where the thieves were.

Every so often he would turn the eye down a different fork, briefly scouting out a tunnel and taking note of where it led, but he always caught up with the thieves a moment later. In his mind he had the place almost fully mapped, and it would be a simple thing to outmaneuver his quarry when the final moments arrived.

He bore the girls no ill will, of course, but there was something satisfying about knowing that you had your opponent outplayed. Doubly so when they had no clue. Each step was slow and deliberate, since he had to concentrate to keep the wizard eye active and follow the path that it showed him, but each step drew him closer to his prey. It would be over soon, and it would be better this way. Ravenscar had requested that he not make too much of a mess in his office, after all. The maze seemed a better place to dispose of loose ends.

Turning at a fork, Resar avoided a branch that would have led to ancient skeletal archers. Another turn took him parallel to a passage lined with nasty-looking warding runes. It would have been easier if the thieves had fallen into one of these traps, but after the first encounter with the slime they seemed to have figured out the pattern of the maze. Probably something about the markings painted on the wall.

Well, Resar had a trap of his own he could spring. Concentrating harder, he gave a mental command to the hellish wolf he had summoned, and the creature launched itself around a corner, facing the thieves and barring its teeth. The one in pink and violet drew her dagger, but thought better of it and backed away. As one the three thieves turned and ran down an alternate branch.

With a blink Resar dismissed the wizard eye and the double-vision faded. A good thing, it had been giving him a headache. A moment later he rounded the corner and came within a few paces of the thieves. They stumbled back and there was a collective gasp from all three throats. Next they spun around again, diving towards a side-passage.

_ Running out of places to retreat. _

Resar shook his head, waved a hand in the air and droned out a few words before the girls reached the branch. With a bone-chilling crackle the air in front of them turned to white mist that instantly solidified, jagged icicles springing from the ceiling and floor like teeth. All three skidded to a halt, hemmed in and trapped. They turned their backs to the wall, three streams of breath smoking in the air, eyes full of terror.

_ Sad really _ . Best to end this quickly. Resar flung his hand forward once again, a small yellow sphere crackling into existence at his fingertip. With a flick of his wrist and an act of will he sent the ball of fire flying down the tunnel, where it struck the girl in pink squarely in the chest and bloomed into a massive burst of flame. The chill that had filled the air was blasted away by a searing wind, and Resar found himself turning his head and cringing.

Three agonized shrieks filled the air, the screams competing with the roar of flames and the hiss of steam where the fire met the wall of ice. Burning bodies danced, in all-out animalistic panic, one slamming herself against the wall of ice as she tried to put herself out, another rolling on the floor.

Resar followed through with a second, identical fireball, and when the flaming explosion and waves of black smoke had cleared there were three charred, unmoving bodies sprawled out on the blackened floor. The walls and ceiling were burnt as well, and the icewall was a steaming, sizzling ruin.

The mage stared at the smoking, unidentifiable bodies for a moment, then nodded to himself. _Loose ends tied up_. He turned on his heels and walked back through the maze.

* * *

Long minutes went by before the three burnt corpses finally shimmered and winked out of existence. More time passed before Imoen, Skie and Alora poked their heads out of the side passage and started whispering to each other.

"Looks like he bought it," Skie said with a relieved breath.

"Ya," Alora agreed. "That was some spiffy illusioning, fearless leader! The agonizing screams and everything!" She bit her lip. "Well, that part might give me nightmares."

"Just glad he didn't come over and investigate too closely," Imoen said. "I'm not quite able to weave illusions that include scents. Was worried he might be suspicious that it didn't smell like burning people. Though I'm glad I didn't have to imagine _that_ and put it into a spell."

"Yuck!" Alora hissed. "Yeah. Hopefully once you get to smells you'll just be making illusionary roses and cookies. Ha! That'd be a good prank. Fresh baked, pretend cookies, and when someone tries to eat one…poof! Or can you make illusionary tastes? You can make them taste like hot peppers! Or…"

They made their way out of the maze more slowly and cautiously than they had entered, having to turn around a few times. Eventually the cellar of the Thieves' House came into view; a great relief. Narlen Darkwalk met them at the top of the steps, a sheepish look on his face.

"S'sorry 'bout that nasty bit o' wiz-mess," he muttered, shaking his head. "Tried ta stop the berk but…"

"Ya." Imoen gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I saw. Really appreciate it." Looking beyond him she noticed Ravenscar's dark silhouette casually leaning against a wall. Imoen's hand shot to her dagger and her eyes narrowed.

The guildmaster raised a calming hand. "I suppose a little apology is in order," he said without a hint of humility in his voice. "Mr. Darkwalk here failed to inform me that you were now an honorary member of the guild. Or he may have told me but, well, you know how hard it is to understand anything he says."

"Uh huh," Imoen muttered, not the least bit convinced.

For his part Ravenscar looked mildly annoyed. "Truly. We can't have word getting around that I would leave a _guildmate_ high and dry like that. Let me at least offer you some free pickings from Black Lily's stocks, as a form of apology."

Imoen twisted her lips in thought, glancing at her friends. "Ya, I 'spose that could work." She immediately slipped around Narlen and through the doorway to the fence's shop. She felt Ravenscar following, probably worried that he'd been too generous and she was about to grab half the inventory. Instead she just stood and scanned the shelves for a long, thoughtful moment.

There were rows and rows of poorly organized potion bottles, and bundles of arrows carrying every kind of enchantment you can name from fire to magical dispelling. There were piles and piles of assorted weapons, many finely crafted and bearing the marks of enchantment, and an entire corner of the room was devoted to things thieves would find particularly useful: alchemical powders, caltrops, smoke grenades, ten different sorts of cloaks, lockpicks and other specialized hand tools, flasks of acid, and jars and jars of poisons labeled clearly with skulls and crossed bones.

One item in particular caught Imoen's eye: a long box lined with stolen scrolls. She picked through the contents, glancing briefly at the neat wax seals that indicated which spell was written on each. It looked like Thalantyr's work. _Wow, someone actually managed to burgle the High Hedge? Or at least slip these out when that stuffy fellow wasn't looking._

Grinning and lifting up one of the scrolls, Imoen waved it in the air. "I'll call it even if I can just take this," she said. Then another scroll caught her eye and she snatched it up. "Oh, and this one too."

"Fair enough," Ravenscar said with a nod. "But don't get too greedy."

"Don't worry. This should be all I need for one more heist."

* * *

The people of Baldur's Gate were relieved when the skyships both departed, the larger one floating off to the north in the direction of Ulgoth's Beard and the smaller one leaving a few hours later, sailing directly south. Some folks had marveled at the great, looming vessels bobbing in the air above them, but most had worried that at any moment gravity would reassert itself and there'd be a gods-awful mess.

The little cog floated slowly through the cold grey sky, its shadow passing over the Chionthar and the sparse trees on the south bank. Beyond, the forest gradually grew more dense and tall and the land rose and fell, becoming the endless hills of the Cloakwood. At the rate the single-masted skyship drifted along it would be a long journey south to Halruua, but a safe and scenic one, above the reach of any beasts that lurked in the forest below.

At the helm of the flying cog stood Resar, his spotless red robes billowing and his eyes fixed on the distant south. His hands rested by a pedestal where the metallic sphere that steered the ship rested, content for the moment to leave the vessel on a fixed course. On the deck before him the pair of air elementals that served as the ship's tireless crew busied themselves adjusting ropes and sails.

In the wake of the flying ship a sparrow silently drifted on the cold winds; a grey and unremarkable bird with a patch of red feathers on its crown and down its back. It beat its wings from time to time, and gradually caught up with the skyship, alighting on the railing. With a hop the bird landed on the deck, head bobbing and darting from side to side. Its claws scuffed silently against the wood as it pattered over to the wall of the ship's small cabin, then it arched its back, spread its wings, and began to grow.

Feathers became fingers, wings became arms, and in the space of two breaths Imoen was awkwardly adjusting to being human once again, stretching out a bit before turning and pressing her back against the wall. As quietly as she could she whispered to herself and waved her fingers. " _Umbriel vistias quiel_." Once the familiar shimmer of the invisibility spell had enveloped her she took another look around.

Beyond Resar, who had thankfully not noticed her, the only other occupants of the deck appeared to be air elementals; tiny floating clouds that drifted about adjusted the rigging with their transparent limbs. It seemed that the ship was crewed by summoned spirits, which worked all the better for Imoen. If they noticed her they might not even be instructed to alert their master, and being single-minded things they'd be easy to sneak by. She cautiously examined the unlocked cabin door before teasing it open and slipping inside.

There were no wards to be bypassed in the elegant bedroom inside the cabin, and Resar had left everything unlocked. He had probably been in and out a few times since taking off, and who would expect a burglar in the middle of the sky? The spellbook, statuette and magic stone were all neatly placed atop a desk, and easy enough to snatch and slip into a bag once Imoen was sure there were no wards or traps.

Next she went exploring, slow and cautious-like. Stairs led down to a cargo hold, and there was a door at the end that caught her eye. It was bristling with warding glyphs, and the lock looked fancy and elaborate. A sure sign that there was something precious behind the door. Imoen had some ideas as to what that might be, and they were confirmed when she slipped inside and found herself in a small chamber, arranged a bit like a shrine. On a raised wooden pedestal sat a statuette that looked a bit like the one in her bag, though the harpy was a fair amount crueler-looking. Above the statue's head a stone floated, glowing and slowly orbiting like a little halo.

There were glyphs all around the shrine, the sort that would send a deadly shock through your body if you got too close, but a few pinches of alchemical powder had them fizzling out. Imoen pondered undoing the alarm spell that was placed over the statue and stone as well, but thought better. What she was about to do would get Resar's attention regardless, and she'd have to move _fast_ , alarms or no.

Taking a deep breath and making a silent prayer to Mask, Imoen stretched her gloved fingers out, and with two quick darting motions she snatched the stone, and then the statuette, slipping them into her sack with a clink. The room around her immediately listed to the side with a deep wooden groan, but by then she had sprung to her feet and was running. Stairs bucked beneath her as she dashed up them three at a time, rounding the corner and staggering out onto the pitching deck.

A scowling Resar nearly blundered into her at the doorway to the cabin, but she dodged past him and ran towards the railing. "What in the hells!?" the mage shouted over the rush of the wind as the unstable ship wobbled and sank in fits, some residual magic still keeping it afloat for the moment. Resar's eye twitched with recognition. "You're dead!" he declared.

No doubt he would have followed that declaration with a deadly spell, but by then Imoen had spun around and unfurled the second scroll she had taken from Black Lily's (the first being a polymorph spell.) She sang out the words on the piece of parchment as fast as she could, and the scroll dissolved in a flash of light between her fingers, the lingering energy rushing forward and striking Resar squarely in the chest.

In less than a blink the light from the spell solidified into long sticky strands of webbing that pinned the Halruuan mage to the wall of the cabin, trapped like a fish in a net. "I couldn't stay dead," Imoen quipped as she hopped onto the railing and balanced there. "Had some loose ends to tie up." She gave Resar a mocking little salute. "Apologies, and all that."

And with that she kicked off the railing and into the air. Wind rushed by her outstretched hands and stung her cheeks for a brief moment, but a whispered spell slowed her decent, and soon she was drifting down, slow as a feather, towards the forest and the river.

The skyship looked like it was in for a much less gentle landing. It faltered upright for a few more heartbeats, then the prow sank violently and it picked up speed, sailing down towards the Cloakwood. It disappeared behind the tree line for a moment, and then there was a mighty crack, followed shortly by a rising cloud of dust and debris.

Imoen watched the cloud grow with a pained smile. That had been a good streak she'd had recently, going nearly a tenday without killing anyone. She had known all along it wouldn't last though. There always seemed to be someone trying to murder her these days, and sometimes you just have to pay 'em back.

As her feet gently came to rest on the soft earth near the bank of the Chionthar, she patted the bulging bag of loot that hung against her hip. On the bright side, she now had two sets of skyship components. Might be worth a fortune, if she could figure out who to sell it to.

**Author's Note:**

> Narlen Darkwalk's cant in this story is a combination of Planescape slang, stuff Narlen says in the game and things I made up.
> 
> Also credit where it's due: the title of this story was inspired by ilmatar-art's amazing fanart picture of Imoen on deviantart.com called "Now you see me, now you don't." I know that phrase is something Imoen says when she uses stealth in Baldur's Gate II but my working title for this story was Baldur's Gate Nights before I saw that picture and the title clicked.


End file.
